#getting his scriptures in for the night /j | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peoniesandflowers · 4 months ago

Text

Maximus' ABC headcanons

To biggest yearner throughout the history of the Roman Empire Small disclaimer: Listen I know the man is dead, but if you are looking for narrative coherence this is not the place. Best I can say is that all of this happens as he is a Gladiator, but in my head is an au where he gains freedom and keeps on his life. Hope you like it.

NSFW under the cut! A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Maximus is a lover up until his last bone, he also respects routine and duty, meaning that he won't let you leave the bed without at least 15 minutes of cuddeling and kissing you as he says how important you are to him. Maybe he sounds a little dry as he says it, but he means it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He is very proud of his arms, how strong he is. They are what it has let him win and protect himself over and over. And same case for their partner, it shows what type of life they have, from farmer, to scripture, to servant.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He likes to cum outside, specially on your Venus mount. He likes seeing what he could have spilled inside you, and knowing what that could mean...

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) This man loves to smell you. He always has used smell as a fighter in order to gain information about the area, how infected was a wound, etc... so I feel like he would have a quite good sense of smell. He likes how your hair smells, how your skin does to... He loves to take a good slow sniff when he is between your legs, enjoying your musk. You have even scolded him for trying to be sneaky and smell your armpit as he pins your hands up your head while you two are in bed, not a drop of shame in his face as he smiles at your protest.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He was married and after some years of grief he had a couple lovers, but even if he haven't have any, he know what he is doing. It's not because of experience that he is a good lover, but because he knows how to lisent and take commands.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) He is fond of a couple positions. Mating press is one, since he gets to see your face and use all his weight on you. He also likes the Decent one (I had to google how this one was called lol) and he kisses your ankles when he has you like that. On slow steamy mornings is quite usual that he starts cuddling, you being the little spoon, and suddenly he is inside you as his arms hold you close and he kisses your shoulders.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He usuay is more serious/passionated toned when he is bed with you, but that does not mean he won't try to make you laugh now and then, enjoying how you slowly get quieter and start moaning his name.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He used to keep it nice and clean everywhere in his body while he was a general, mostly because of how body hair was seen to romans, but after everything that had happened he does not care that much. He might shave everything once in a while, but usually just strims.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) If you two have being seeing each other for just a couple times it can get heated, but he won't pour all his feelings into it. As you two know more and more, it gets heated, steamy, passionate, eager and needy. He kisses you, licks you, he is always grabbing some part of your body as if you were to slip off.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) I think he usually is too focused on his work and up to what he is doing to do it through the day. If you are not living together he might take care of an annoying morning wood, or think of you at night as he pleasures himself before falling sleep.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He ends up confessing to you how much he misses the days where he was a general. Not because of power, but the recognition of his men. One night you teased him a little too much, and trying to stir things even more you said "is my general not able to take a little bit of heat?", all pretty and laying down on his own bed, making something spark inside him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) His bed is his best known battle ground, and he will use it both in his favour and yours.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) He enjoys when you two are affectionate and cuddle anywhere after a long day, but just a few kisses won't do the job. He likes to hear you asking for it, asking him to pleasure you, to the point where he might make you repeat yourself a couple of times.

You also have learned that if you leave a scarf or any clothes that have your fragrance on it, he be will be inexplicably eager to taste once you see each other again. That's why, once, you helped him pack his bag before he had to leave for a quick travel, putting in a pair of your used panties on it. He was away only for two weeks, but he swear that it was the longest and most torturous time away from you. And he made sure you knew that once he came back.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Because of his past, he is very uncomfortable with any kind of pain, tying either him or you, and degradation in general.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) When you go down on him, he huffs and grabs your hair softly, not urging you to neither go faster or deeper, just enjoying everything you can give him as he pampers you in compliments. When he goes down on you, it's because he wants to stay FOR A WHILE. He doesn't even mind if he has to wait later for you to recover, he just loves too much your taste, smell and the feeling of your thighs on his ears.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He prefers to go slow but steady since it allows him to keep it up for longer. He also likes to do this thing when he suddenly buries himself as deep as he can on you, once, twice, and one last time, before coming back to the same pace he was before.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He prefers to take time and enjoy everything properly, but if you insist him, he will try to his best in just a couple minutes.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He is a low risk man, so I feel like he won't like the idea of extravagant stuff or exhibitionism. If you purse him tho, he won't mind the idea of using a blind on him as you enjoy him, as long he can do the same to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) He is not the youngster he used to be, once he has an orgasm he needs a little while to recover. That's why he prefers to edge himself a little and be sure that you get satisfied before he also reaches his climax. If you overstimulate him, he can come twice in a brief period of time, and his legs will tremble as if he just run a marathon.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He doesn't need toys, he had never needed toys, so if you suggest them he will used them to satisfy your interest, but will never suggest to used them again.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He is not much of a tease. He might want to hear you asking something and be clear and loud about it, but he is just so eager to please. And he is really bad at resisting to your teasing, so do it only if you are willing to "suffer" the consequences.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) He talks you through it at first, letting you know how pretty you look and how good you feel. If you are coming first he will focus on you and encourage to cum, but as soon he is close he will shut up and start huffing and groaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) At the beginning of your relationship he still didn't a have a room only for himself so you saw each other at your place. One day you had to rise early, leaving him to wake alone in a bed that stack in your scent. He had to cum on his hand twice in order to be able to even make a proper thought.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) I KNOW IT'S BIG. 12 CM AND THICCCCKE.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Sexually he can stay for long without sex, the main problem is that he has you always in his mind once you two start to be official partner. If he stops straining he thinks about you, if he stops to eat he thinks about what you'll eat to day, if he gets a bath... well... next time will be with you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) My man is tired. Once he checks on you and maybe drinks some water, he will fall sleep faster than you for sure.

Also, thank you so much for the love in the other headcanons. I'm going through a small 🤏🤏🤏🤏🤏 hyper fixation with the Gladiator films, again, and I just thought about doing something about it. If there's any fandom or character that you would like me to write something about it, I just activated the question thingy in my profile.

More stuff!

Commodus' ABC (NSFW)

Caracalla's ABC (NSFW)

Geta ABC (NSFW)

#Gladiator #Gladiator Maxiumus #maximus x reader #Maximus x you #Headcanon #Headcanons #gladiator ii #maximus decimus meridius

51 notes · View notes

siravalondulac · 14 days ago

Text

this is what i tell the world at the end, full of pride [part two of three] | j. snow x fem!oc

part 6⅔ of the modern!holiday au

summary: after a frustrating day at work, cerelle suggests jon try out something new to get his mind off things.

contents: modern au, pride month, smut (face fucking, eating out from behind, edging, anal fingering), use of a safe word

words: 4250

author's note: the pride madness continues

tag list: @sunraysoverthevalley @idohknow @sammybirdseed

masterlist

previous | next

The window on the other side of the room clatters as he throws the door close with all his might. He lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and leans back against it.

He has dealt with rude people before. He has dealt with idiots before. He has dealt with assholes before. But never before has he had to deal with all three on the same day, within the same last hour before closing. It is clear Thorne hates him, otherwise he would have defended him from any one of these godawful men today.

“Everything alright?”

Jon looks up in surprise to see Cerelle sitting on his bed, books and binders spread around her, and… and dressed in one of his hoodies.

Since having exchanged apartment keys last week, they have agreed that either of them could simply show up to the other's place, even if they aren’t home. Neither have used it yet - until today. And he couldn’t be happier.

He hastily drops his jacket and backpack, slips out of his shoes, and lets himself fall onto the bed and into her embrace. She chuckles as he presses his face against her stomach, but he only tightens his hold around her waist.

“Tough day?”

He nods.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

On a different day he would have liked nothing more than to get all his troubles off his chest, to share them with his girlfriend and have her ease his worries. But not today. Not after being screamed at for almost half an hour. And definitely not after reading that article Rast had sent him.

What is going on with Cerelle Baratheon-Lannister?

By now, I believe we have all become accustomed to the scandals our president’s daughter serves to us on a weekly basis. Whether it’s some weird sex story, another dead body, or the desecration of a public monument - everyone remembers the pictures of the remains of the dragon statue in Summerhall from last year - her exploits have become part of the newscycle. Election - robbery - Cerelle. Budget cuts - drugs - Cerelle. War in Essos - football - Cerelle. Her life is a trainwreck we simply cannot look away from.

But something seems to have changed since the beginning of the year. Sure, she still gets near black-out drunk in every single night club in the city, got arrested three times in the last three months, and had yet another exposé written about her by an ex lover, but that is tame by her standards. Where are the orgies? The cannibalism accusations? The murder charges? What happened to the woman who was caught in bed with her father’s greatest political rival? Who dyed the Blackwater Rush blood-red? Who almost bombed a fascist rally?

Theories have started popping up in every corner of the internet, each more unbelievable than the last. The most common conclusion people have reached is that she has either become pregnant - likely from someone she doesn’t even remember the name of, which could lead to some interesting court proceedings - or that someone has finally snatched her up and married her. Maybe Aurane Waters has finally succeeded in his year-long quest, maybe one of her previous lovers actually belongs to the Church of Old Valyria and has demanded she fulfil their strange scriptures, or maybe, most boringly, her grandfather has forced her to finally marry Alyn Estermont to secure him as a son-in-law.

That a beauty surgery has gone wrong or that she is suffering from cancer (or any other mysterious disease) is unlikely, considering her looks have not changed. More likely than this is that she has been sent to rehab again, or that she even - gods forbid - is preparing to run for a public office. Though hopefully even she knows how useless that is. No one would want someone like her running even a soup kitchen.

Well, no matter what the reason for Cerelle Baratheon-Lannister’s strange behaviour is, chances are high we will see her old self again very soon. Women like her are incapable of a “normal” life.

Jon knows the article is nothing but an opinion piece posted to a random gossip site. And yet the opinions of the people it mentions are very real, the links at the bottom leading to actual discussions as to what might be wrong with their favourite starlet.

Cerelle cannot find out about what these people say about her. And so he merely shakes his head and hides his face underneath her hoodie. His hoodie, that she is wearing.

His girlfriend laughs, her fingers tracing his hair through the fabric. “Looks like someone is in need of a distraction.”

He wants to move downward, to take her up on her offer and lose himself in her, but she quickly lays her fingers underneath his chin and forces him to meet her gaze.

“I meant something different.” She smiles seeing his confusion. “You could… try letting out some of your frustrations on me.”

He jolts upward in shock. “No! No, I could never-”

“It's alright, it's alright.” She quickly takes his hand in hers, laying a gentle kiss on its knuckles and squeezing it in encouragement. “You don't have to, it's just… I actually think it's really hot when you take control sometimes. When you grow demanding and take what you want. It's… freeing in a way. And I wouldn't mind if you got a bit rough with me.”

He considers her words. His fingers absentmindedly draw shapes on the back of her hand, and eventually start tracing the edge of her hoodie.

“Like the time I fucked you against your apartment door?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Just like that.”

“Or when I took you from behind and made you cum three times?”

She bites her lower lip and hums in agreement.

“How about that time I-”

“Stop talking and fuck me already.”

He takes ahold of her chin and tips her head back. “What happened to wanting me to be in charge?”

“You can't expect to taunt your needy girlfriend forever.” She grins, almost in a challenge. “If you don't start something soon, she might have to get her pleasure from somewhere else.”

Jon knows what she is doing, of course - intentionally playing bratty and riling him up to get him more comfortable with the situation.

And so he grins in response and pushes Cerelle off the bed.

She lets out a sound somewhere between confusion, anger, and surprise, but before she can mutter even a single word, he has sat down on the edge of the mattress and started unbuckling his pants.

“If you're so desperate to be fucked-” he pulls his still soft dick out of his pants and gives it an insistent tug- “You need to earn it.”

And before he knows it, his girlfriend has already swallowed him to the base.

By now he should have already been used to her warm mouth, the way her skillful tongue traces along the veins and how her throat tightens around his tip, yet it still takes him off guard how good it feels every time. It's no surprise, then, that she has him rock-hard and throbbing within a minute.

Maybe a wiser and more experienced man would be terrified if another person knows his body better than he does, but Jon doesn't care. Not with Cerelle. Not with how she moans so prettily when pleasuring him, how she leans forward on her knees to take him even deeper, and how she sometimes stops to make out with his tip as if it were his lips.

He groans and jerks his hips forward and further into her warmth at that particular sight. She grins - or attempts to do so, at least, yet her lips are still stretched around his spit-covered dick - but just as she is about to reach her hand up to assist her work, he reminds himself of what she asked for.

One of his hands closes itself around her wrist, the other buries itself in her hair and pulls her off his length.

(The string of spit connecting her lips to his tip make his hips almost surge forward.)

Cerelle looks up at him - still grinning, still cocky, still urging him to go further.

“Do you need a break?” she asks in such a sugary-sweet voice he almost laughs.

“You might need one soon,” he responds.

Her lips part slightly in surprise, then she tips her head back, baring her long and pale throat to him.

“How so, my love?”

Oh, how desperately he simply wants to stuff his cock into her mouth and fuck her the way he has fantasised about so many times before, but… Not yet. Soon, maybe, but his anxiety is still too strong.

He lets go of her wrist and brings his hand up to her mouth, pressing his thumb against her lips. She opens them readily and sucks his finger into her mouth, humming against the digit as it presses down on her tongue.

The sight alone almost makes him cum.

“There is something… Something I want to do,” he says slowly. “But you wouldn’t be able to talk during it, and I'm scared of hurting you and not even noticing.”

Cerelle gently takes ahold of his wrist, frees his thumb from her mouth with a pop (gods!), and interlaces their fingers.

“Two squeezes mean you should stop.” She shows him what she means. Once. Twice. “I will not let go of your hand, no matter what you do.”

He almost kisses her red lips, yet manages to hold himself back.

Later.

For now, his other hand tightens the grip it has on Cerelle's hair, and guides her head towards his dick.

He starts off slow, just to get them both used to the feeling. Being the one in control of a blowjob - and the movement of his girlfriend’s head in particular - feels strange, and yet he cannot help but love it. Love the way her lips move along his spit-covered cock, how he keeps her mouth pressed firmly against his tip when she clearly so desperately wants to take him deeper, how he jerks his hips forward suddenly and takes her off-guard.

It takes him a while to find a rhythm he is comfortable with (and one Cerelle might be as well). He drags her head forward and back, tilting it, speeding up and slowing down. She does her fair share of work as well, of course, moving her tongue across the sensitive veins on the underside, humming, smiling, whining, and almost threatening to bite him when he keeps her in one place for too long.

Jon rewards her with a sudden thrust of his hips that makes her gag around his dick. He almost draws her back, preparing to ask if she is alright, if he hurt her, when she looks him directly into his eyes and swallows around him.

He begins moving her mouth along his cock quicker, then, preparing to stop at a moment's notice. But even if the grip he has on her hair must surely hurt already, even if he never gives her a moment to breathe, she continues sucking him off.

He starts losing himself in her more and more. His head falls back, his eyes fall close, and all he can focus on is the sound of his dick fucking into Cerelle's throat.

It's disgusting. It's beautiful. It's addicting.

His hand flattens against the back of her head, keeping her face pressed against his groin and his tip locked firmly in her throat. Breathing slowly and heavily to avoid cumming, he plays with lone strands of her hair, jerking his hips forward slightly to-

She squeezes his hand.

A string of curses flies through his head as he rips her off his dick faster than he should have.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so-”

Cerelle coughs, retching a bit even, and wipes some of the spit from her chin with a trembling hand.

“I'm so sorry.” Jon falls on the floor beside his girlfriend in a frenzy. “I shouldn't have- Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah, I'm okay.” Her hands find his and tighten around his fingers. “It's just… You're a bit too big for me to deepthroat you for long.”

“Still, I shouldn't- I shouldn't have used you like that, what if something had-”

“Hey, hey. Jon, it's alright.” She cups his face in her hands, tracing the lines of his beard. “I enjoyed it. I asked for you to take control, and I knew this was one of the things you could do. And I still wanted it. Besides…” She takes his hand again, and squeezes twice. “That's why we have this. I tapped out in time, you reacted in time. Nothing happened.”

He presses his lips to her forehead, and cradles her body in his arms, attempting to stop the trembling wrecking through him.

Nothing happened. Cerelle's right. She is still here, she is not hurt, she is still smiling and breathing.

“If…” he says slowly. “If this had been a colour, which would you have said?”

She had introduced him to the concept of safewords last week, and they had agreed on using the traffic light system. Green for continue, orange for dialling it back or going slower, red for a full stop. Either could ask at any time, or simply say the colour at any time.

“Orange,” Cerelle answers. Her breath fans across his throat.

“So you'd want to continue?”

She nods. “If that's alright with you. The whole thing really turned me on.”

He grins, and moves his mouth directly next to her ear. “Then onto the bed, my love. Hands and knees.”

His girlfriend follows his command - only after kissing him, of course. She looks divine in that position, especially with how her long curls fall all around her body and collect around her hands.

He moves behind her, tracing her ass and thin legs through the fabric of her leggings, before slowly and carefully pulling them and her underwear down, over her knees, and throwing them onto the floor.

She audibly inhales, then almost squeals the moment he latches onto her clit.

After what just happened, it feels comforting in a way to kneel behind her and get drunk on her juices, on the moans and whines that spill from her mouth. He grabs her thigh, digging his fingers into the soft flesh to draw her legs further apart and provide him with better access to her cunt.

His tongue draws circles around her hole, pressing against it without ever entering. Cerelle whines, trying to push herself closer against his face, but he only smiles and moves back to her clit, showering it with attention instead.

Pleasuring her has become far too easy, and yet it doesn't bother him. There is a sense of satisfaction to knowing his girlfriend's body inside and out, to know which licks of his tongue and which presses of his fingers will get her moaning the loudest. A sense of pride in being her access to pleasure.

His nose presses into her cunt as he continues sucking her clit and making out with it as if it is her mouth. (Though nothing could compare to that.) A mixture of her juices and his spit run down her legs and get caught in his beard, but that does nothing to deter him. It's the opposite, in fact.

Her taste, her scent, her entire being needs to become a part of him, needs to enter his mind and blood so that he will remember it even into death.

Cerelle rocks her hips back and forth, almost starting to ride his face. He swiftly lays his hand in between her shoulder plates and starts to push down with enough force to make her arms crumble underneath her. Her face and front are now pressed into the mattress, while the arch in her back makes her ass point upward, providing him with an even better access to her cunt. And a good look at…

Oh, how desperately he tries to ignore it, tries to drown himself in the wetness spilling out of her. But the thought simply will not leave him alone. No matter how hard he tries.

She won't like it, we haven't talked about it, this is not what either of them are here for…

He gently bites her clit, making her let out a quiet scream.

No, she has said she likes it, and would be up for it at any time. And if she wants to try something different, wants to feel what it's like when he has complete control over her…

His hand, previously locked tightly around her leg, starts slowly inching upward. His mouth doesn't leave her hole, of course, keeping her distracted and hiding his next goal. But he cannot focus properly on that (not even on her beautiful moans), as he grabs a handful of her ass to squeeze it, before moving further.

His thumb stops a hair’s breadth away from her puckered hole.

And based on the sudden shudder that went through her body, she might have noticed what he is planning.

“Colour?”

“Green. Green, please- Please, continue, I beg-”

He swipes his tongue along her cunt, starting at her clit and almost reaching her ass, as his thumb dips into her wet hole, collecting as much of her juices as possible. Then he returns it to its previous position, and starts pressing down.

There is a lot more insistence than he is used to, even if he clearly feels her trying to relax herself for him. Despite wanting nothing more than to watch his own work, he keeps his mouth locked firmly on Cerelle's clit, absentmindedly sucking on it as he moves his thumb in circles over her asshole.

Slowly, the tip of his finger passes her rim. It's so incredibly tight, squeezing around the intruding digit and seemingly wanting to draw it further in and press it out at the same time.

Cerelle arches her back even more, almost folding herself in half as she tries to move against him. His free hand quickly grabs her waist to keep her in place.

“Y'like this?” he mumbles against her cunt.

“Y-Yeah.”

His chuckles send vibrations straight to her core, making her shiver. “You’re desperate for me.” He swipes his tongue across her hole. “Can't spend even a day without me.” He runs his finger through her wetness again, and quickly presses back it into her ass, slowly moving it deeper and deeper. “You look so good wearing my things. You have no idea what that does to me.”

Cerelle moans - whether at his words or the continued assault on her holes he cannot say. Her breathing quickens, her legs start to tremble under the continuing strain of keeping her upright, and her hole begins to pulse around his tongue. All the signs point to-

He moves his mouth away swiftly, and presses against her legs and waist to stop her from chasing his touch.

She whines. “Jon, please.”

“Something the matter?”

Her panting sounds muffled against the pillow she has buried her face in.

“What was that?” he asks with a grin. “I fear I didn't understand you.”

“Please,” she whispers. “Let me cum.”

He hums as he stares at his abandoned work, gently moving his thumb inside her ass, pressing it against her walls. “Could you cum from this? If it was my dick inside you instead.”

“N- No,” she answers shakily. “Not if you didn't touch my clit.”

“Hmm.” He moves closer slightly, his breath fanning over her skin. “Sounds like I need to try that some time.”

He continues eating her out, yet stopping just before she cums every time. By the time he has denied her yet another orgasm - he has lost count by this point - her crying and begging has devolved so much he cannot even make out proper words anymore.

It's so terribly addicting.

The moment her legs give out under her, he quickly catches her and turns her onto her back.

Cerelle looks at him with half-closed eyes when he moves up to her, and lets out a small whine when he cups her cheek in his hand.

“How are you?” he asks. “Are you alright?”

She nods, her breathing coming out in ragged bursts. “Yeah. Though I'd really like it if you made me cum now.”

“There is one more thing I would like to do before that.” He hesitates. “Colour?”

“Green.”

“Then close your hands around the headboard.”

A smile creeps onto her face. “And if I don't?” she asks, raising her chin.

He moves so close their lips almost touch. “I can always tie them up for you if you're too weak.”

Cerelle’s grin hides something mischievous, and he could not wait to find out what plans are forming inside her head.

Later. For now, he kneels above her chest, legs on either side of her body as she raises her arms above her head just as he commanded. He quickly leans forward and interlaces one of his hands with hers, feeling stupid for almost forgetting.

“Squeeze twice if I should stop.”

She nods, and then he moves his hips forward and presses his dick against her mouth.

Eating out his girlfriend should not have made him this hard, but looking at his red and throbbing cock, and the pre already leaking out of it, he is glad for it. He desperately needs to cum, and could not manage having to start from zero again.

Cerelle swallows him straight down, even in this strange position they have found themselves in. And when he starts pulling out and snapping back into her mouth over and over again, his balls slapping against her chin and his tip close to entering her throat, she takes it as if she had done so a thousand times before.

He sometimes draws halfway out to let her tongue run along his dick, mindful not to accidentally choke her again. She makes this a bit difficult with how desperately she chases after him, never properly letting go of him.

Eventually, he does start to lose himself inside her, yet his loss of control doesn't last long, because then suddenly Cerelle runs her teeth across his dick and swallows around him, making him jerk into her throat one final time before cumming.

He almost falls down on top of her, only barely holding onto the headrest as his hips slightly jerk into her mouth and he spills himself into her.

It’s blinding, in a way, the very kind of pure euphoria he knows he cannot find anywhere else. Cannot even find with someone else, no matter how many people he could fuck over his life - only Cerelle could make him lose himself so from a mere orgasm.

When he does finally manage to retain control of his senses, he almost falls off the bed in his haste to free his girlfriend’s chest of his weight. How her reaction time is still quick enough to catch him and draw him into her embrace even after everything he did to her is a mystery to him.

Jon wipes away some of the escaped seed from her lips and chin. “Are you alright?”

She nods, tightening her grip on his shirt. “Will you now please make me cum? Please?”

“Do it yourself.”

“What?”

He smiles, takes one of her hands and guides it to her core. “I am tired after everything today. If you are so desperate, you need to make yourself cum.”

A million different emotions rush across her face, before her eyes darken and she matches his grin.

Not surprisingly, it doesn't take Cerelle very long to reach her orgasm, especially after everything they just did (and everything he did to her). She arches into his chest, throws back her head, and moans loudly as her juices spill out from between her legs.

They lie in each other’s arms afterwards. Just breathing, just existing with each other, and recovering from what just happened.

“Where did you learn all that?” she whispers.

“Nowhere. I just… It was just an idea I had. Something I wanted to do with you.” He chuckles. “I don’t think there is very much to learn about denying my girlfriend the chance to cum.”

“You really like that word.”

“Girlfriend?” She hums in agreement. “Yeah. I don’t know why. You’re not my first, and before you the word was never anything special. I can’t explain why it feels so different now.”

Cerelle is quiet for a moment before she says, “You’re my first boyfriend.”

“What? Really?”

She nods. “I’ve had one-night stands and situationships and friends with benefits and maybe sometimes things that could have evolved into something proper had we both only wanted it, but I have never had a serious partner before. And especially not someone I was exclusive with.”

Jon’s heart races at the revelation.

Before this, he had always assumed the reason Cerelle is such an expert about their relationship, the reason she always knows what to say and what not to say, when to discuss something and when to simply fall asleep next to him, was because she had done it a thousand times before. But now-

He hugs her tighter. “Thank you for trusting me enough to give you this experience.”

“There is no one better I could have imagined for this.”

previous | next

#jon snow x oc #jon snow #jon snow smut #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf oc #game of thrones oc #fic: stars above songs below #fic: sasb holiday au #oc: cerelle baratheon #asoiaf x oc #game of thrones x oc

13 notes · View notes

gracev0609 · 9 months ago

Text

Success & Sacrifice

A Josh Kiszka fic for Spooky Season 🎃

A gracev0609/ @lipstickitty collaboration.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, rituals, blood, fictional ancient scripture, dark magic, a hint of possessiveness, mentions of sex, mentions of periods

WC: 5k+

The things we do for love...

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

It wasn’t always like this- the screaming crowds, flashing lights, elaborate stage set up. In the beginning it was just four young boys scared out of their minds, playing in their parents’ garage or for a crowd of less than 20 people in a local bar or similar scene. All the glamour came later, and Josh could say that it didn’t happen overnight, but that would sort of be a lie.

Josh, Jake, Sam, and Danny knew they had something special between the four of them from the time they first started playing music together. Even just jamming, they could feel it in their bones that it was meant to be the four of them. The hard part was going to be convincing everyone else of that, paying their dues to get to where they wanted to be. But it was Jake’s dream, a dream he shared with the younger two, so Josh was determined to play his big brother role wholeheartedly and make it happen.

Jake had been so overwhelmingly excited coming to the other three boys and telling them that they’d booked a few nights at a local bar, sort of a trial period to see how they did. These local spots only held 50 people or so maximum without cramming them in and breaking fire codes, but they had booked them. They knew if they could take these first few crowds by storm, no matter the size of the audience, sooner or later word would travel and more people would come and see them play. With enough packed shows, they could book bigger venues, and just keep growing onward from there.

The boys were so anxious before those first few shows, the excitement and nerves swirling in their stomachs and building up the anticipation. Sam and Danny weren’t even old enough to be in the bar they were playing at, big black X’s on the backs of their hands making it glaringly obvious. They all wished one another good luck before they took their places, knowing all they could do now was play the way they had been and pray that people liked them.

The first night went as well as they could’ve hoped- no one booed, a few of the more intoxicated patrons were loudly singing along to a few of the covers they played. At the end of their set there was some scattered applause, one of the most beautiful sounds they’d ever heard. They thanked the crowd and made their way off of the little makeshift stage back towards the front of the bar. Buzzing with excitement, they thanked the manager for giving them the opportunity and loaded back up in Josh’s car to head back home.

The second night, the boys were expecting a similar response to the first, expecting it to go relatively smoothly once again. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the week so there were less people in the building to begin with and the ones that were there weren’t very enthusiastic. A few people were loudly having conversations over their instruments, a couple people exited the bar altogether and there was no singing along or movement from the remaining crowd. Trying not to be discouraged, they continued to play their hearts out, determined to give them the best show they possibly could. Once again they thanked the crowd, spoke briefly with the manager, and then headed back home, this time with much less excited chatter and banter.

The next morning Josh woke to find his twin already sitting up in his bed, blankly staring out the window, the Michigan foliage just beginning to change hues. His expression was blank, veering on the side solemn.

Pushing his hair back from his face, tangled from sleep,” Are you okay Jake?’

Jake's head turned, his naturally sleepy eyes finding Josh's,” ‘mfine. Jus didn't sleep well.”

Josh stared at the blue checkered flannel comforter still bunched in his lap,”Okay…”

Jake turned his body, facing Josh,” Do you think we can do this? Like really do this? Maybe I should just focus on school instead, try to go to a university like you want to.”

“No! This is your dream Jake! A few shit shows doesn't mean you should give it all up to go be an accountant.”

“I could never be an accountant. Im shit at math.” Jake chuckles.

“You want this right? You want to play music?”

“It's everything I've ever dreamed of, Josh. I want to share my talent with the world, create music that speaks to people.”

“Then it'll happen! No one can deny your passion. This is your destiny, you were meant to be a rockstar.”

A shy smile crept onto Jake's face,” I hope so. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything.”

“I know it'll happen.”

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Ever since Jake confided in him that he was unsure about his music an icky feeling settled in his stomach. Jake couldn't give up on his dream so easily, he won't let him. The road to being a successful film director won't be easy, but drive and determination will get you anywhere. Josh decided to drive two towns over to the venue they played at last, ask for another slot, another chance to bring people in the door. He'd beg if he had to. Forty five minutes later he was back in his car feeling smaller than he ever had. The manager said there wasn't enough draw, not enough interest, and not enough liquor sales to bring them back. The rain picked up on the drive back, his car's shoddy heat not enough to warm his bones. He decided to stop at the cafe in town to get a hot beverage, maybe it'll provide the comfort he's searching for. As Josh sat at his table he kept thinking about how defeated his twin looked. He didn't want Jake to go to school and get wrapped up in something that would make him miserable. He had to try, something. Anything. Jake's dream was on the line. Grabbing his to-go cup he sauntered to the bookstore down the street, maybe there was something there that would help him. Perhaps a book on the music business, or music marketing, or hell Booking Gigs for Dummies. Once inside, he shook his shoulders, trying to shake off the cool autumn rain. He could feel his denim jacket soaking the sweater he wore underneath. Gripping his cup tighter he made his way to the business section, he was grasping at straws here. Frowning under the dim lighting in the small town bookstore he didn't see anything that particularly stood out to him as exactly what he was looking for. But to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Pulling a few titles that looked like they could hold some useful information, he scanned and scanned.

His tea had since gone cold and frustration was starting to overtake him. He pulled one more book out, something about running a small business, when something else fell out with it. The book was small, but old. Ornate gold symbols decorated the red leather cover. Picking it up he studied the book, the title in a foreign language he didn't understand. His brows furrowed as he felt that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, something was compelling him to open the book. Flipping through, there were words he didn't understand. Until they suddenly moved and morphed into ones he could understand. Words on the page stuck out to him like bright neon signs. Magic. Devotion. Sacrifice. Success.

Gasping Josh dropped the book, this red leather bound book could contain all of the answers he was looking for. Quickly he shoved it in his jacket pocket, before exiting the store. His feet started to run, carrying him to his car as fast as he could. He needed to study the passages now. Maybe this could help Jake.

Sitting in his car, still in the parking lot, Josh flipped through the pages of the worn leather bound book scanning for anything useful. Finally, midway through the book his gaze landed on the word success in large bold lettering. It looked far more promising than anything else he’d seen so far so he went to the top of the page and began reading. “In order to reap the success that rightfully belongs to you, you must bind your blood to the spell. Through this sacrifice you will find what you desire.”

There wasn’t much else on the page in the way of words but there was a simple illustration below the passage, depicting a man standing at an altar, hand bleeding into the chalice on the altar before him. There were a few different herbs scattered around the altar also, most of which Josh thought he could identify. Though part of him was skeptical, the blind devotion to his brother far outweighed that part and he thought, if it doesn’t work, no harm really done. But if it does… well, he didn’t want to get his hopes up just yet. But he’d come this far after all, he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

Josh gathered all the supplies he’d need for the ritual- the altar, the chalice, a blade to get the blood flowing, the various herbs, the candles, and the red wine. He found a secluded place in the woods where he wouldn’t be disturbed, he needed to complete the ritual without being interrupted or held back. He felt almost desperate in his need to do this.

With the black tablecloth spread out on the ground, Josh placed the altar overtop of it and lit candles all around it, the flickering flames dancing and creating shadows all around him. He carefully placed the herbs where they needed to go then rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. He poured the red wine in the chalice, a little over half way full, then replaced the cork and set the bottle aside. The book sat next to him, his gaze flicking back and forth between the illustration on the page and the altar cloth before him, making sure he had everything in place.

Once he was certain that everything was perfect, Josh took a deep breath to center himself before reaching for the small switchblade. Holding his breath for a moment he made a small slit in the pad of his thumb with the edge of the blade, hissing at the sight of the red beads rolling down its surface. He flipped the knife closed and let it drop to the cloth below him, holding his bleeding hand over the chalice and making a fist, letting his essence flow into it, swirling with the dark red liquid already in the cup. He wasn’t sure just how much blood was necessary so he squeezed as much as he could from the small cut, hoping that was enough to do the trick.

The book didn’t say anything about it, but he figured saying something couldn’t hurt, manifestation and all that. “I want- no, I need- to make this band work for my brother. It’s his dream and I have to make it happen. If I can’t…” he let himself trail off, not sure how to end the thought anyway even if he knew someone was listening.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Josh stood from the dinner table, grabbing his plate and putting it in the sink. Family dinner was wrapping up and they were planning on going out to the garage to rehearse their newest material. As Josh turned off the faucet Jake's phone rang in his pocket. He watched as Jake furrowed his brow and fished his cell phone out,” Hello? Yes, this is Jacob Kiszka.”

He watched as his twin chatted with the person on the other end, as the minutes passed Jake's smile grew.

“Yes! Oh my god,yes. Thank you so much for this opportunity. Yup, yup. We'll see you Friday at ten.Yup. Bye!”

Jake snapped his cell phone closed, ending the call, “HEY BOYS!”

Sam and Danny emerged from the living room asking Jake what was wrong.

“Nothing's wrong. Guys… That was Rich. Rich from Lava Records. We just got offered a record deal!”

The two younger men erupted in cheers and a smile spread on Josh's face at the realization. The spell had worked! Jake was getting his dream, if Josh had anything to do with it.

“Josh! We're getting a record deal!!” Jake cheered, wrapping his arms around his twin squeezing him tightly.

In the time between Jake getting the call about the record deal and the day they were supposed to go sign, the call started to feel a little like a dream. Like at any moment they could wake up and it never happened. Despite the boys’ anxieties, Friday rolled around and everyone was getting dressed in their best clothes to go meet with the label. They were all feeling the familiar sensation of nerves swirling through them, but they knew this could be the beginning of something big.

Their parents insisted on going along, wanting to make sure the boys weren’t getting screwed over. When both families’ cars had parked outside the office, everyone piled out and made sure they had everything they needed, nervous good luck wishes exchanged between them all.

The meeting went better than any of them could’ve imagined- the deal they were offered was excellent, especially for four young men just starting out in their careers. Their parents combed through the contracts thoroughly, searching for anything they may need to object to, but came up blank- everything looked good. After they got the go ahead from their families, the boys signed the contract, their grins stretched across their faces so wide it almost hurt.

Once all the paperwork was squared away, the only thing left to do there was discuss next steps. Recording, booking more shows, getting more exposure, interviews, all the basics of what they needed to know and do in order to be successful. They absorbed everything they were hearing like sponges, wanting to ensure they were doing everything right.

Finally, every order of business had been attended to and they were shaking hands and exchanging goodbyes, still riding the high of their excitement all the way back home to Frankenmuth. They had their next few shows and events scheduled and somehow they knew things would be different. These would be their best shows so far, they could feel it.

The boys’ intuition had been spot on, those were in fact the best shows they’d played thus far. Packed shows, the crowd engaging with them, people being excited to hear them play. They couldn’t believe the difference between their first few shows and now, it was like a complete twist of events and they were overjoyed about it. They were just enjoying the moment and hoping their good luck would continue.

After their first show playing under the record label, they were booked for an interview for a local radio station before the following show. They were terrified, never having really spoken in public to that extent before, but it was about the music. They knew they could talk all day long about the music.

That interview got amazing reviews, tons of listeners tuned in to hear and the band was getting some buzz online. They started feeling even more confident that things would work out.

The next show was incredible, possibly even better than the first and they were feeling on top of the world. The next one went pretty well, and the one after that was just okay. Their playing was still where it always was, but the crowd wasn’t as interested as they were before. Josh felt dread in the pit of his stomach, maybe his little ritual wasn’t working anymore.

Josh’s worst fears were confirmed when the next couple interviews they were scheduled for got canceled unexpectedly. Low ratings was the only reason they were given. This definitely wasn’t what he was expecting when he’d performed the ritual. Was this the book’s idea of success? He scoffed at the thought, deciding he was going to get to the bottom of why the hell the spell suddenly wasn’t working. He’d given the blood, damn it, why wasn’t it working?

Later that night Josh found himself back in the same place where he’d performed the ritual, with the altar set up the exact same way. The old leather bound book sat in front of him, splayed open to a random page. Clearing his throat, he began to speak, “What the hell, why isn’t it working? I bound my blood to the spell, that’s what you told me to do!” His voice growing in volume until he was nearly shouting. In any other situation he might feel silly for yelling at a book, but he had a sense that this particular book might in some way hear him and his desperation to save his brother’s band was consuming him.

A sudden gust of wind blowing the trees startled Josh from his speech, a few orange tinged leaves falling to the ground with the force. “Fuck!” He gasped, looking down at the ground and seeing the pages of the book flipping wildly, too fast for human hands to be turning them. Finally it stopped, coming to rest on its intended page.

“You must continue giving the blood for the spell to continue to work. It’s power weakens with time- only more blood will strengthen it.” Josh read the bold print from the page out loud, groaning softly when he realized this wasn’t just a one and done situation.

Knowing this was pretty much going to be his only option if he wanted to save the band right now, Josh decided to accept the fact that he’d have to give more of his blood. What other choice did he have? Begrudgingly he picked up the blade once more, making a bigger cut this time right across his palm, and let his blood flow into the chalice, setting up the offering for whatever beings or spirits were behind making this kind of magic work.

‘Blood magic’, flitted through his brain, allowing himself to briefly ponder the kind of power such a being might possess while he let his blood flow into the wine filled chalice. He thought maybe he didn’t give enough last time, figured that maybe if he gave more each time, he could go longer between rituals and that may be his best bet unless he wanted to do this every few weeks.

When he started to feel a little dizzy, whether from the blood loss or all in his head, Josh made a tight fist and let the blood clot figuring that had to be enough. Closing his eyes he let his chin drop to his chest, trying to center himself but ultimately ended up angry again.

“So I just have to keep doing this forever?!” He shouted, whether it was to no one or someone, something, he didn’t care anymore. This was his shot to make his brother’s dream come true and he’d basically have to exsanguinate himself to do it. His irritation was finally bubbling over, burning hot as he screamed his frustrations to the sky and trees around him. “There’s only so much blood in my body. What the hell am I supposed to do?” By the end of his tirade, he’d run out of steam, still feeling a little weak from losing blood, and let his voice fade out to a mere whisper. A couple frustrated tears slipped down his cheeks and he wiped them away, if this was what was required of him then he’d just have to suck it up and do it, he could make that sacrifice for his twin. He’d already done it once before, what was a few more times?

Another strong gust of wind whipped the trees around, autumn leaves falling all around him.

Lifting his head he saw the pages in the book turning like they had before, finally coming to rest on its desired page in just the same way it had done before.

Rolling his eyes Josh decided to read this page as well. Something obviously wanted him to, even going so far as to physically point it out to him. This page however made a grin stretch wide across his mouth, hope bubbling up inside of him. This could work, this could help him- a spell that would allow him to harness the power of the divine feminine energy, the fertility of a woman, and turn it into his sacrifice.

Letters morphed on the page, swirling and changing until the word Hathor appears on the page. Josh furrows his brow, speaking the name out loud.

Hathor, goddess of music, joy, love, sexuality and femininity. As soon as Josh's eyes reached the word femininity more words appeared on the ancient paper. Instructions on how to celebrate her, to channel her power Josh must reach an altered state of mind on the twentieth day of the month, gather an offering and perform the spell. Double tapping on his phone he checked the date, the Twentieth of October. He needed to do the spell now if he wanted it to work! Pushing himself to his feet he runs down to his parents liquor cabinet, grabbing the bottle of Captain Morgan he makes his way back into his room back to sit in front of his altar. Flicking the screw cap off he took a pull of the spiced amber liquid. A grimace spread on his features, a face of disgust before taking another gulp. One more to power through before he figured his mind was altered enough. His eyes scanned the page to find instructions for the offering, words flashing across the paper, Paint your face with three marks across your skin. One for the father, one for the mother, and one for the child. Josh thought quickly before rifling through their bag of cosmetics they used for shows, grabbing a silver creme eyeshadow stick he marks three dots across his cheek bones. Looking back at the page more words appear, Flow the burgundy wine into the chalice, meld it with your blood. Reaching forward Josh grabs his switchblade placing another open wound onto his palm letting the scarlet drips flow into the chalice. Once the blood stops flowing he looks back to the page, Place chains of silver and gold into the chalice and wear them proudly around your neck as a sign of devotion. Josh's eyes light up as he remembers the silver moon necklace and the gold sun necklace he and his twin received recently. Quickly he grabs them and places them into the dark red liquid. Once more he looks at the page, a spell to speak aloud formed on the page. Josh breathes deeply before speaking, his voice growing more confident word by word,” I offer this sacrifice to the mighty goddess Hathor. I welcome and accept her, I pledge my devotion and humbly ask her to do my bidding. Harness your godly powers to help us succeed and we will worship you with every song and melody we create.”

Josh held his breath for a moment while nothing changed, his anxiety increasing by the second. Finally the page in the book went blank, soon after being replaced with new ones, “I accept your offering, child. I can sense the strength of your devotion. What is it that you desire?”

He gasped, sputtering for his words for a few seconds before recovering, “Oh! Oh my- thank you, Hathor, for the honor of your time and your assistance. I-I need a way to harness the blood of the women around us as well as those who attend our shows to replenish the success spell- but only the blood they would already lose each month, I can’t hurt anyone.” He stumbled over his words just slightly, knowing he was speaking with an actual goddess.

Once again the page was wiped clean before fresh print appeared, “Continue outwardly showing your devotion to me, child, and it is done. Proudly bathe yourselves in the colors of silver and gold and I will know.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks once more, this time happy tears as he knelt before the altar. “Thank you, Hathor. Thank you.” He picked the book up and pressed a kiss to the old, tattered page of the book that had become his saving grace. He watched for a moment to make sure the goddess had nothing more to say before gently closing the book, lovingly clutching it to his chest.

He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as he cleaned up his mess, knowing things were going to change.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Jake pulled his phone from his pocket, a few texts from friends and family wishing him well for the show that was about to start, his eyes flicking to the corner of his screen, in forty minutes. Wandering through the halls behind the stage he made his way to Josh's private dressing room. Without knocking he twists the metal door knob, stepping inside he notices the room bathed in candlelight. Josh's back was to the door, there he was sitting in front of candles, an old bronze chalice and a leather book in his lap. Josh turned at the waist,”Jake? What are you doing in here?”

Gazing at the altar his twin had set up in front of him, the flickering candles, the herbs and crystals and the ancient tattered looking book in his lap and the chalice filled with dark liquid, there was one thing that was glaringly obvious. He was performing a ritual.

"W-what are you doing?" Jake stammered watching Josh's hands move in practiced repetition.

"A ritual obviously, my dear brother." He smiled as the tip of the switchblade poked his thumb.

"W-why? What for?"

Josh's eyebrows furrowed," You wanted success correct? I made it happen. Just needed a little blood sacrifice, the ethical way of course."

Now Jake's eyebrows dipped," What does that mean Josh? You didn't ki-"

"No of course not! I'm not a psychopath," he runs his bloodied thumb around the rim of the chalice on the table," You've surely heard the rumors about the women who come to our show, and their periods."

Josh lifts his eyes from the chalice," That's how I get our blood sacrifice Jake."

“Their periods? How Josh that doesn't make sense!” Jake deadpanned, he barely believed his eyes.

Josh dips his golden sun necklace into the chalice, deep red dripping from the metal,” The ancient text in my lap, and Hathor.”

Josh secures his necklace against his chest, red liquid slowly running down his sternum before absorbing into the black velvet of his jumpsuit.

“Please Josh you've gotta give me more than that.” Jake pleads, a wave of something unnerving washes over him as he watches Josh, so practiced and repetitive. This was something he's done many many times.

“You wanted success so badly, I couldn't let it slip through our fingers! So I sought out otherworldly help. The spell for success needs blood, and after awhile I couldn't supply it all myself. So, I channeled Hathor , a goddess, and she er, manipulates, the women's periods that come to see us. To give us the blood sacrifice you see. I wouldn't hurt anyone.” His smile bright trying to calm Jake's uneasiness.

Just then Josh's door bursts open Sam and Danny barging in, an unlit pre roll in Sam's hand,” Do you guys… wanna .. smoke this. What the fuck is all of this?”

Josh rolls his eyes, thankful that he was able to finish his ritual,” It's a ritual, worship.. an offering all of that stuff.”

Jake furrows his brow his brain fully catching up to the information he was given,” Wait, so how does Hathor do all of this? Hey - is this the reason why you got really into yoni worship and tantric shit that you would not shut up about?”

Josh laughs, a loud gleeful sound,” Too many questions Jake, but I don't really know how she does it, she just does. It's all apart of the spell and the worship- it's why I never take off my jewelry and our tours have been so themed in silver and gold.”

Josh looks around, Jake seems to be absorbing all that he told him and Sam and Danny look confused. Josh opens his mouth to start explaining but Sam cuts him off,” Hey, would I be able to light this off of the candles or would that piss Hathor off?”

Josh motions him to go ahead when Danny speaks up,” So… I don't know about Sam here but I want a recap. Why are you performing a ritual Josh?”

As they pass the joint around the room Josh recounts years past, how he was determined to make Jake's dream come true. How he sacrificed his own dreams to make sure that Jake would succeed. Josh tells him that he is bound to the band, the book, and the spell. It's his deal that he made so he's the one who has to uphold it.

Josh exhales with a cough,” So, that's what you all walked in on. I was finishing my ritual, to keep our success.”

Jake speaks first,” So, you needed a blood sacrifice,”

“The ethical way!” Josh interjects.

“Ethically, so you use their period blood for the sacrifice.”

“Exactly, I mean they bleed every month anyway.”

Danny smirks, choking back a giggle,” What's the harm in making some of them a little early, they ruin their panties at our shows regardless.”

Sam cackles, his loud stoner laugh echoing in the small space, Josh giggles,” Why did you think most of our audience is women?”

Sam scoffs,” I thought it was because they think we're hot!”

Jake runs his hand down his face, still grappling with the new information,” Josh… When you said you had a pre show ritual I thought you meant like meditation not an actual pre show ritual.” Smiling he continues,” You know that the rumors think that it has something to do with me and ‘the way I fuck my guitar’. But it's been you the whole time! Damn, you were really helping my ‘sex god’ image.”

A knock at the door broke them from their game of twenty questions, a muffled “Five minutes boys!” Coming through the door. Tamping our their lit substance they then file out the door when Danny puts his hand on Josh's shoulder,” Wait, you're the reason why it seems like every woman I hook up with after these fucking shows has their period?”

Josh giggles, a bit bashful,” Caught me!”

Danny rolls his eyes,” I'm sending you all of my ‘cleaning fees’ from now on. I've had to pay for a lot of replacement sheets because of you.”

The show was drawing to a close, the first few notes of Farewell for Now ringing out into the stadium. Josh looked out to the crowd, every face with sparkling eyes and a smile a mile wide. Turning his head to the left he found Jake, red sweaty and tired, but the look on his face was priceless, the content smile on his face from completing another incredible show was something else. Deep down Josh knew that everything he had done was worth every bit of the success and sacrifice.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Taglist 🎃 @joshsindigostreak @losfacedevil @josh-iamyour-mama @vanfleeter @myownparadise96 @emeraldvanfleet @sanguinebats @lilbitx @kissthesun-gvf @musicislove3389 @kultavalo @iluvjoshkiszka @grassmowersstuff @jazzyfigz @fleetingjake @cheersdannyx2 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf

I also want to thank you guys! This is our biggest tag list yet and we are so excited! 🧡

#gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #gvf fanfiction #danny gvf #jake gvf #sam gvf #danny wagner #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fanfiction #greta van fleet #greta van spooky season

45 notes · View notes

beebopboom · 2 years ago

Text

The Meta Underground

A Guide to Navigating what has been my brainrot posting about Good Omens

I apologize in advance for how long a lot of these are

feel free to message and asks are always open!!

non good omens related blog -> @boppinbee

Meta Series

The Bookshop

A Bookshop in Soho Eden - the bookshop is set up like a garden, hidden Tree of Life, rivers of time, and is the whole of Whickber St Eden?

The Book of Life to The Second Coming Pipeline - a couple of theories about the book of life, the rings, the fly, bookshop, and coffee

The Second…….Ball? - Gabriel’s arrival really did trigger the Second Coming - at least a version of it

The Title Sequence

Background Shenanigans - hints in the background of s1’s TS that lead to s2’s and what that might mean for our story.

Timeline Theory - those walkways are timelines

Heaven’s Timeline - a more in-depth look at how the walkways are Heaven’s planned timeline

Three Final Acts -the three magic tricks we see in the title sequence and what they might be in the show

Not the Magic Trick we see - initial findings for Three Final Acts

Mystery symbol - the ongoing search for a mystery symbol

The Metatron

The Angel Behind the Curtain - some wizard of oz parallels - we are just warming up people

Always an Angel, Never a Man - let’s dive into who he is in scripture shall we?

Am I a Good Angel? Am I a Mad Angel? - some similarities between him and the figure head of the devil

A Kind of Magic - numerology, tarot cards, and is he cosplaying?

Words of a Wise Angel - an actual look into his actions in the show and some of his funny word meanings

Agnes Nutter

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter - a list of all her prophecies and images I could find from her book

Messages from Above - is she a witch? is she a prophet? how about both? let’s look into how she is getting her prophecies

Refined by Fire

(unfinished)

Clothing

there will be more here eventually and has to be updated

Clothing within Ranks -Angel Clothes and what the colors mean in show!universe

Aziraphale’s tartan - how lighting seems to effect his bow tie

Theories

Greasy Johnson: A Red Herring? - season three speculation about how the baby swap included Jesus as well, Hello Warlock

Unexpected Help - Saraqael was the one who opened the gateway in the bookshop

Nuns Night Out - what are those nuns doing at the theatre?

A Case of Missing Weaponry - ever wondered where Michael’s spear is? boy do i have a crackpot theory for you.

Meta Groups

Aziraphale

Aziraphale’s Flaming Sword - the human history behind his sword

The Halo was the Cause - why the Halo was the reason the Metatron showed up

An early journey of questioning - it really doesn’t take him long

Aziraphale’s Protection - how he protects Crowley

Aziraphale’s unintentional? placement - Aziraphale standing to the left of Gabriel in Job

A lying Angel - lying to protect his love

Choosing Death- choosing death doesn’t work maybe it’s time for something else

Don’t try to be God - why Aziraphale got nervous in Before the Beginning

Crowley

Crowley’s Fall - he really didn’t mean to Fall

Anthony J Crowley - a self discovery through his name

Defensive Crowley - acknowledging the consequences of the arrangement

Crowley losing the bookshop - and he’s the only one to have

Crowley giving up Alpha Centauri - he gave away their safe space

Stars to Plants - she just wants to watch her creations grow ok

Crowley’s Ringtone - not quite a normal phone sound

It’s always too Late

The Ineffables

The apology routine - maybe there is more to it than the dance

They love humanity - just in different ways

A duet - it’s not a want but a need

Nothing - their versions of nothing

Power dynamic - “second in command” ok wow that hurt

Paranoia and Isolation - how the pandemic may have affected them

Difference of Perspective - how the audience vs characters view A&C

Timeline

The Flood changed it all - it really fucked them up

Future Minisode time slots - the gaps in time for possible future minisodes

Heaven

1827 Second Coming? -crowley and aziraphale unintentionally fucking things up

Metatron future manipulation - something he is going to “let” Aziraphale do in s3

Angel confrontation tactic - they really like trapping Aziraphale into conversations huh?

Wildcard

Dirty Donkey Lift - just questioning why the hell it is there

Cut dream sequence - whose is it?

Something up with fours? - discussing some fours in the show

Angels don’t dance - and they don’t ask for forgiveness

Freemasons lodge - duality of the Resurrectionist

No Garden? No God - they left the garden

Maggie’s Ugrency - picking apart her misspelling

Questioning the Coffee Shop - only two beings do it - Crowley and the Metatron

Slamming of the books - Jim says some interesting things when slamming two books together and what it could mean

If Gabriel can leave Heaven and be with Beelzebub, why can’t Aziraphale do the same with Crowley - more of a ramble than anything else

The Wicked Bible - the second printing error

ASAP - further look at the many asap’s around the coffee shop and how it plays into the final fifteen

Memory Returns - a (currently) three way visual parallel of when memories are returned

Acrostic Clues

fuck I have to reorganize this again

#good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens master post

59 notes · View notes

denimbex1986 · 2 years ago

Text

'It was the early hours of 16 July 1945, and Robert Oppenheimer was waiting in a control bunker for a moment that would change the world. Around 10km (6 miles) away, the world's first atomic bomb test, codenamed "Trinity", was set to proceed in the pale sands of the Jornada del Muerto desert, in New Mexico.

Oppenheimer was a picture of nervous exhaustion. He was always slender, but after three years as director of "Project Y", the scientific arm of the "Manhattan Engineer District" that had designed and built the bomb, his weight had dropped to just over 52kg (115lbs). At 5ft 10in (178cm), this made him extremely thin. He'd slept only four hours that night, kept awake by anxiety and his smoker's cough.

That day in 1945 is one of several pivotal moments in Oppenheimer's life described by the historians Kai Bird and Martin J Sherwin in their 2005 biography American Prometheus, which provided the basis for the new movie biopic Oppenheimer, released 21 July in the US.

In the final minutes of the countdown, as Bird and Sherwin report, an army general observed Oppenheimer's mood at close-quarters: "Dr. Oppenheimer... grew tenser as the last seconds ticked off. He scarcely breathed..."

The explosion, when it came, outshone the Sun. With a force matching 21 kilotonnes of TNT, the detonation was the largest ever seen. It created a shockwave that was felt 160km (100 miles) away. As the roar engulfed the landscape and the mushroom cloud rose in the sky, Oppenheimer's expression relaxed into one of "tremendous relief". Minutes later, Oppenheimer's friend and colleague Isidor Rabi caught sight of him from a distance: "I’ll never forget his walk; I’ll never forget the way he stepped out of the car... his walk was like High Noon... this kind of strut. He had done it."

In interviews conducted in the 1960s, Oppenheimer added a layer of gravitas to his reaction, claiming that, in the moments after the detonation, a line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita, had come into his mind: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

In the following days, his friends reported he seemed increasingly depressed. "Robert got very still and ruminative during that two-week period," one recalled, "because he knew what was about to happen." One morning he was heard lamenting (in condescending terms) the imminent fate of the Japanese: "Those poor little people, those poor little people." But only days later, he was once again nervous, focussed, exacting.

In a meeting with his military counterparts, he seemed to have forgotten all about the "poor little people". According to Bird and Sherwin, he was instead fixated on the importance of the right conditions for the bomb drop: "Of course, they must not drop it in rain or fog… Don’t let them detonate it too high. The figure fixed on is just right. Don’t let it go up [higher] or the target won’t get as much damage." When he announced the successful bombing of Hiroshima to a crowd of his colleagues less than a month after Trinity, one onlooker noticed the way Oppenheimer "clasped and pumped his hand over his head like a victorious prizefighter". The applause "practically raised the roof".

Oppenheimer was the emotional and intellectual heart of the Manhattan Project: more than any other single person he had made the bomb a reality. Jeremy Bernstein, who worked with him after the war, was convinced that nobody else could have done it. As he wrote in his 2004 biography, A Portrait of an Enigma, "If Oppenheimer had not been the director at Los Alamos, I am persuaded that, for better or worse, the Second World War would have ended... without the use of nuclear weapons."

The variety of Oppenheimer's reported reactions as he witnessed the fruition of his labours, not to mention the pace with which he moved through them, might seem bewildering. The combination of nervous fragility, ambition, grandiosity and morbid gloom are hard to square in a single person, especially one so instrumental in the very project provoking these responses.

Bird and Sherwin also call Oppenheimer an "enigma": "A theoretical physicist who displayed the charismatic qualities of a great leader, an aesthete who cultivated ambiguities." A scientist, but also, as another friend once described him "a first-class manipulator of the imagination".

By Bird and Sherwin's account, the contradictions in Oppenheimer's character – the qualities that have left both friends and biographers at a loss to explain him – seem to have been present from his earliest years. Born in New York City in 1904, Oppenheimer was the child of first-generation German Jewish immigrants who had become wealthy through the textiles trade. The family home was a large apartment on the Upper West Side with three maids, a chauffeur, and European art on the walls.

Despite this luxurious upbringing, Oppenheimer was recalled as unspoiled and generous by childhood friends. A school friend, Jane Didisheim, remembered him as someone who "blushed extraordinarily easily", who was "very frail, very pink-cheeked, very shy...", but also "very brilliant". "Very quickly everybody admitted that he was different from all the others and superior," she said.

By the age of nine, he was reading philosophy in Greek and Latin, and was obsessed with mineralogy – roaming Central Park and writing letters to the New York Mineralogical Club about what he found. His letters were so competent that the Club mistook him for an adult and invited him to make a presentation. This intellectual nature contributed to a degree of solitude in the young Oppenheimer, write Bird and Sherwin. "He was usually preoccupied with whatever he was doing or thinking," recalled a friend. He was uninterested in conforming to gender expectations – taking no interest in sports or the "rough and tumble of his age-group" as his cousin put it; "He was often teased and ridiculed for not being like other fellows." But his parents were convinced of his genius.

"I repaid my parents’ confidence in me by developing an unpleasant ego," Oppenheimer later commented, "which I am sure must have affronted both children and adults who were unfortunate enough to come into contact with me." "It’s no fun," he once told another friend, "to turn the pages of a book and say, 'yes, yes, of course, I know that'."

When he left home to study chemistry at Harvard University, the fragility of Oppenheimer's psychological make-up was exposed: his brittle arrogance and thinly-masked sensitivity appearing to serve him poorly. In a letter from 1923, published in a 1980 collection edited by Alice Kimbal Smith and Charles Weiner, he wrote: "I labour and write innumerable theses, notes, poems, stories and junk… I make stenches in three different labs…I serve tea and talk learnedly to a few lost souls, go off for the weekend to distill low grade energy into laughter and exhaustion, read Greek, commit faux pas, search my desk for letters, and wish I were dead. Voila."

Subsequent letters collated by Smith and Weiner reveal that the problems continued through his post-graduate studies, in Cambridge, England. His tutor insisted on applied laboratory work, one of Oppenheimer's weaknesses. "I am having a pretty bad time," he wrote in 1925. "The lab work is a terrible bore, and I am so bad at it that it is impossible to feel that I am learning anything." Later that year, Oppenheimer's intensity led him close to disaster when he deliberately left an apple, poisoned with laboratory chemicals, on his tutor's desk. His friends later speculated he could have been driven by envy and feelings of inadequacy. The tutor didn't eat the apple but Oppenheimer's place at Cambridge was threatened and he kept it only on condition that he see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist diagnosed psychosis but then wrote him off, saying that treatment would do no good.

Recalling that period, Oppenheimer would later report that he seriously contemplated suicide over the Christmas holidays. The following year, during a visit to Paris, his close friend Francis Fergusson told him he had proposed to his girlfriend. Oppenheimer responded by attempting to strangle him: "He jumped on me from behind with a trunk strap," Fergusson recalled, "and wound it around my neck... I managed to pull aside and he fell on the ground weeping."

It seems that where psychiatry failed Oppenheimer, literature came to the rescue. According to Bird and Sherwin, he read Marcel Proust's A La Recherché du Temps Perdu while on a walking holiday in Corsica, finding in it some reflection of his own state of mind that reassured him and opened a window on a more compassionate mode of being. He learned by heart a passage from the book about "indifference to the sufferings one causes", being "the terrible and permanent form of cruelty". The question of attitude towards suffering would remain an abiding interest, guiding Oppenheimer's interest in spiritual and philosophical texts throughout his life and eventually playing a significant role in the work that would define his reputation. A comment he made to his friends on this same holiday seems prophetic: "The kind of person that I admire most would be one who becomes extraordinarily good at doing a lot of things but still maintains a tear-stained countenance."

He returned to England in lighter spirits, feeling "much kinder and more tolerant", as he later recalled. Early in 1926, he met the director of the Institute of Theoretical Physics at the University of Göttingen in Germany, who quickly became convinced of Oppenheimer's talents as a theoretician, inviting him to study there. According to Smith and Weiner, he later described 1926 as the year of his "coming into physics". It would prove a turning point. He obtained his PhD and a postdoctoral fellowship in the year to follow. He also became part of a community that was driving the development of theoretical physics, meeting scientists who would become life-long friends. Many would ultimately join Oppenheimer at Los Alamos.

Returning to the US, Oppenheimer spent a few months at Harvard before moving to pursue his physics career in California. The tone of his letters from this period reflect a steadier, more generous cast of mind. He wrote to his younger brother about romance, and his ongoing interest in the arts.

At the University of California in Berkeley, he worked closely with experimentalists, interpreting their results on cosmic rays and nuclear disintegration. He later described finding himself "the only one who understood what this was all about". The department he eventually created stemmed, he said, from the need to communicate about the theory he loved: "Explaining first to faculty, staff, and colleagues and then to anyone who would listen ... what had been learned, what the unsolved problems were." He described himself as a "difficult" teacher at first but it was through this role that Oppenheimer honed the charisma and social presence that would carry him during his time at Project Y. Quoted by Smith and Weiner, one colleague recalled how his students "emulated him as best they could. They copied his gestures, his mannerisms, his intonations. He truly influenced their lives."

During the early 1930s, as he strengthened his academic career, Oppenheimer continued to moonlight in the humanities. It was during this period that he discovered the Hindu scriptures, learning Sanskrit in order to read the untranslated Bhagavad Gita – the text from which he later drew the famous '"Now I am become Death" quotation. It seems his interest was not just intellectual, but represented a continuation of the self-prescribed bibliotherapy that had begun with Proust in his 20s. The Bhagavad Gita, a story centred on the war between two arms of an aristocratic family, gave Oppenheimer a philosophical underpinning that was directly applicable to the moral ambiguity he confronted at Project Y. It emphasised ideas of duty, fate and detachment from outcome, emphasising that fear of consequences cannot be used as justification for inaction. In a letter to his brother from 1932, Oppenheimer specifically references the Gita and then names war as one circumstance that might offer the opportunity to put such a philosophy into practice:

"I believe that through discipline... we can achieve serenity... I believe that through discipline we learn to preserve what is essential to our happiness in more and more adverse circumstances... Therefore I think that all things which evoke discipline: study, and our duties to men and to the commonwealth, war... ought to be greeted by us with profound gratitude; for only through them can we attain to the least detachment; and only so can we know peace."

In the mid 1930s, Oppenheimer also met Jean Tatlock, a psychiatrist and physician with whom he fell in love. By Bird and Sherwin's account, Tatlock's complexity of character equalled Oppenheimer's. She was widely read and driven by a social conscience. She was described by a childhood friend as "touched with greatness". Oppenheimer proposed to Tatlock more than once but she turned him down. She is credited with introducing him to radical politics and to the poetry of John Donne. The pair continued to see each other occasionally after Oppenheimer married the biologist Katherine "Kitty" Harrison in 1940. Kitty was to join Oppenheimer at Project Y, where she worked as a phlebotomist, researching the dangers of radiation.

In 1939, physicists were far more concerned about the nuclear threat than politicians were and it was a letter from Albert Einstein that first brought the matter to the attention of senior leaders in the US government. The reaction was slow, but alarm continued to circulate in the scientific community and eventually the president was persuaded to act. As one of the preeminent physicists in the country, Oppenheimer was one of several scientists appointed to begin looking more seriously into the potential for nuclear weapons. By September 1942, partly thanks to Oppenheimer's team, it was clear that a bomb was possible and concrete plans for its development started to take shape. According to Bird and Sherwin, when he heard that his name was being floated as a leader for this endeavour, Oppenheimer began his own preparations. "I’m cutting off every communist connection," he said to a friend at the time. "For if I don’t, the government will find it difficult to use me. I don’t want to let anything interfere with my usefulness to the nation."

Einstein would later say: "The trouble with Oppenheimer is that he loves [something that] doesn’t love him – the United States government." His patriotism and desire to please clearly played a role in his recruitment. General Leslie Groves, the military leader of the Manhattan Engineer District, was the person responsible for finding a scientific director for the bomb project. According to a 2002 biography, Racing for the Bomb, when Groves proposed Oppenheimer as scientific lead, he met with opposition. Oppenheimer's "extreme liberal background" was a concern. But as well as noting his talent and his existing knowledge of the science, Groves also pointed out his "overweening ambition". The Manhattan Project's chief of security also noticed this: "I became convinced that not only was he loyal, but that he would let nothing interfere with the successful accomplishment of his task and thus his place in scientific history."

In the 1988 book The Making of the Atomic Bomb, Oppenheimer's friend Isidor Rabi is quoted as saying he thought it "a most improbable appointment", but later conceded it had been "a real stroke of genius on the part of General Groves".

At Los Alamos, Oppenheimer applied his contrarian, interdisciplinary convictions as much as anywhere. In his 1979 autobiography, What Little I Remember, the Austrian-born physicist Otto Frisch recalled that Oppenheimer had recruited not only the scientists required but also "a painter, a philosopher and a few other unlikely characters; he felt that a civilised community would be incomplete without them".

After the war, Oppenheimer's attitude seemed to change . He described nuclear weapons as instruments "of aggression, of surprise, and of terror" and the weapons industry as "the devil's work". At a meeting in October 1945, he famously told President Truman: "I feel I have blood on my hands." The President later said: "I told him the blood was on my hands – to let me worry about that."

The exchange is an arresting echo of one described in Oppenheimer's beloved Bhagavad Gita, between Prince Arjuna and the god Krishna. Arjuna refuses to fight because he believes he will be responsible for the murder of his fellows, but Krishna takes away the burden: "View in me the active slayer of these men... Arise, on fame, on victory, on kingly joys intent! They are already slain by me; be you the instrument."

During the development of the bomb, Oppenheimer had used a similar argument to assuage his own and his colleagues' ethical hesitations. He told them that, as scientists, they were not responsible for decisions about how the weapon should be used – only for doing their job. The blood, if there was any, would be on the hands of the politicians. However, it seems that once the deed was done, Oppenheimer's confidence in this position was shaken. As Bird and Sherwin relate, in his role at the Atomic Energy Commission during the post-war period, he argued against the development of further weapons, including the more powerful hydrogen bomb, which his work had paved the way for.

These efforts resulted in Oppenheimer being investigated by the US government in 1954 and having his security clearance stripped, marking the end of his involvement with policy work. The academic community came to his defence. Writing for The New Republic in 1955, the philosopher Bertrand Russell commented that the "investigation made it undeniable that he has committed mistakes, one of them from a security point of view rather grave. But there was no evidence of disloyalty or of anything that could be considered treasonable... The scientists were caught in a tragic dilemma."

In 1963, the US government presented him with the Enrico Fermi Award as a gesture of political rehabilitation, but it wasn't until 2022, 55 years after his death, that the US government overturned its 1954 decision to strip his clearance, and affirmed Oppenheimer's loyalty.

Throughout the last decades of Oppenheimer's life, he maintained parallel expressions of pride at the technical achievement of the bomb and guilt at its effects. A note of resignation also entered his commentary, with him saying more than once that the bomb had simply been inevitable. He spent the last 20 years of his life as director of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, working alongside Einstein and other physicists.

As at Los Alamos, he made a point of promoting interdisciplinary work and emphasised in his speeches the belief that science needed the humanities in order to better understand its own implications, write Bird and Sherwin. To this end, he recruited a raft of non-scientists including classicists, poets, and psychologists.

He later came to consider atomic energy as a problem that outstripped the intellectual tools of its time, as, in President Truman's words, "a new force too revolutionary to consider in the framework of old ideas". In a speech made in 1965, later published in the 1984 collection Uncommon Sense, he said "I have heard from some of the great men of our time that when they found something startling, they knew it was good, because they were afraid". When talking about moments of unsettling scientific discovery, he was fond of quoting the poet John Donne: "Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone."

John Keats, another poet Oppenheimer enjoyed, coined the phrase "negative capability" to describe a common quality in the people he admired: "that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason." It seems as though it was something of this that the philosopher Russell was getting at when he wrote of Oppenheimer's "inability to see things simply, an inability which is not surprising in one possessed of a complex and delicate mental apparatus." In describing Oppenheimer's contradictions, his mutability, his continual running between poetry and science, his habit of defying simple description, perhaps we are identifying the very qualities that made him capable of pursuing the creation of the bomb.

Even in the midst of this great and terrible pursuit, Oppenheimer kept alive the "tear stained countenance" he had foretold in his 20s. The name of the "Trinity" test is thought to have come from the John Donne poem Batter my heart, three-person'd God: "That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend/Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new." Jean Tatlock, who had introduced him to Donne, and with whom he is thought by some to have remained in love, had committed suicide the year before the test. The bomb project was marked everywhere by Oppenheimer's imagination, and by his sense of romance and tragedy. Perhaps it was overweening ambition that General Groves identified when he interviewed Oppenheimer for the job at Project Y, or perhaps it was his ability to adopt, for the time required, the idea of overweening ambition. As much as it was the result of research, the bomb was the product of Oppenheimer's ability and willingness to imagine himself as the kind of a person that could make it happen.

A chain smoker since adolescence, Oppenheimer suffered bouts of tuberculosis during his life. He died of throat cancer in 1967, at the age of 62. Two years before his death, in a rare moment of simplicity, he drew a distinction that marked out the practice of science from that of poetry. Unlike poetry, he said, "science is the business of learning not to make the same mistake again".'

4 notes · View notes

xtruss · 4 months ago

Text

Who Was The Real Robert Oppenheimer?

— Published: 12 July 2023 | Ben Platts-Mills, Features Correspondent

Who was the real Robert Oppenheimer, and what did he believe? Credit: Getty Images

As the movie Oppenheimer is released, Ben Platts-Mills explores the true story of the enigmatic Manhattan Project scientist, and the atomic bomb that made him a "destroyer of worlds".

It was the early hours of 16 July 1945, and Robert Oppenheimer was waiting in a control bunker for a moment that would change the world. Around 10km (6 miles) away, the world's first atomic bomb test, codenamed "Trinity", was set to proceed in the pale sands of the Jornada del Muerto desert, in New Mexico.

The Gadget, the nuclear device placed on top of a tower for the Trinity test in 1945. Credit: Getty Images

“The combination of nervous fragility, ambition, grandiosity and morbid gloom are hard to square in a single person.”

"We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent." — Robert Oppenheimer

In the movie, Cillian Murphy plays the hat-wearing, chain-smoking Robert Oppenheimer. Credit: Universal

The kind of person that I admire most would be one who becomes extraordinarily good at doing a lot of things but still maintains a tear-stained countenance – Oppenheimer

Oppenheimer read widely, everything from poetry to Eastern philosophy. Credit: Getty Images

“All things which evoke discipline: study, and our duties to men and to the commonwealth, war... ought to be greeted by us with profound gratitude; for only through them can we attain to the least detachment; and only so can we know peace” – Oppenheimer

Oppenheimer with his family - he married Katherine "Kitty" Harrison, a biologist who joined him at Project Y. Credit: Getty Images

Robert Oppenheimer and General Leslie Groves examine the remains of the steel tower at the Trinity test site. Credit: Alamy

“I became convinced that not only was he loyal, but that he would let nothing interfere with the successful accomplishment of his task and thus his place in scientific history – Manhattan Project chief of security.”

Albert Einstein would say of the scientist: "The trouble with Oppenheimer is that he loves [something that] doesn’t love him – the United States Government. Credit: Alamy

A portrait of Oppenheimer, illustrated by the author. Credit: Ben Platts-Mills

— Ben Platts-Mills is a writer and artist whose work Investigates Power, Reasoning and Vulnerability, and the Ways Science is Represented in Popular Culture. His Memoir, Tell Me The Planets, was published in 2018.

1 note · View note

riverdamien · 7 months ago

Text

Walking the Borderlands!

"Walking the Borderlands!"

Luke 17:11-19

NET VERSION

The Grateful Leper

11 Now on[a] the way to Jerusalem,[b] Jesus[c] was passing along[d] between Samaria and Galilee. 12 As[e] he was entering[f] a village, ten men with leprosy[g] met him. They[h] stood at a distance, 13 raised their voices and said, “Jesus, Master, have mercy[i] on us.” 14 When[j] he saw them he said, “Go[k] and show yourselves to the priests.”[l] And[m] as they went along, they were cleansed. 15 Then one of them, when he saw he was healed, turned back, praising[n] God with a loud voice. 16 He[o] fell with his face to the ground[p] at Jesus’ feet and thanked him.[q] (Now[r] he was a Samaritan.)[s] 17 Then[t] Jesus said,[u] “Were[v] not ten cleansed? Where are the other[w] nine? 18 Was no one found to turn back and give praise to God except this foreigner?”[x] 19 Then[y] he said to the man,[z] “Get up and go your way. Your faith has made you well.”[aa]

============================================================

December 1, 2024

First Sunday In Advent!

Advent Candle 1: HOPE

The Gospel of Luke tells us a story in which Jesus heals ten people of leprosy--and only one comes back to thank him (Luke 17:11-19).

N.T. Wright begins his translation of this story like this: "As Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, he passed along the borderlands between Samaria and Galilee."

What are "borderlands"? What is a border?" We might imagine the U.S.-Mexican border, where many want a wall to go up. Or it is the line that separates groups of people.

So, Jesus passes through the borderlands that separate two groups of people. On the Galilee side are the Israelites, the Jewish people. This is the group to whom Jesus belongs. On the other side are the Samaritans: related to the Jewish people, but their ancestry had diverged and now they had slightly different scriptures and a different holy site. The differences were enough to dig a deep, prejudice-filled division between the two groups.

The borderlands are where two groups are divided; it is also where they touch. And so when Jesus heals a group of ten lepers in the borderlands, at least some of them are Samaritans. We know this for sure because one person-the only one who says "thank you" was a Samaritan.

We hear the unexpected response of Jesus to the Samaritan: "Is it really the case that the only one who had the decency to give God the glory was the foreigner?" And then he says what must have been shocking to the Samaritan man, "Your faith has saved you."

This has been the story of Jesus through the ages, that those things meant to keep people a part border, and faith--Jesus turns them into means of connection. Jesus welcomes "this foreigner" into what God is doing in and through the people of Israel: healing, blessing, connecting, and loving. Where humans dug pits of divisions, God built connections. That is what God does.

Jesus more than thirty years ago welcomed "me", a "Samaritan", a"whore" on the border of life, into his loving embrace. An embrace that continues, and calls me to walk the borderlands, to live between the two worlds of humanity on and off the street, loving all the same. Inviting everyone to see themselves as God's children, a part of the rainbow of colors.

Late last Wednesday night I was on the street, the border, talking to people in the allys, and one young Mexican teen, looked at me, with so much pain, and started hemorrhaging. By the time an ambulance arrived, I was covered in blood, and he was dead. The next two days I walked a trail above the ocean in Pacifica, my mind full of the pain in his eyes, screaming, and yelling, hearing the words of Jesus, "Your faith has made you well! And so I returned to walk the "borderlands" in San Francisco. There is much fear, depression, night mares, but I continue to walk, holding the hand of Jesus on the borderland.

I hear the words of Carlo Acutis, as a reminder that "Our frenetic pace of life has made us forget that each of us must climb Golgotha sooner or later. Our journey on this earth is marked from the beginning. We are all invited to take up our cross and climb Golgotha." And so I continue the journey up Golgotha.

Many of you are feeling your own "Borderlands" these days--.The world seems full of " borders" and "foreign-ness. borders like race, class, gender, sexual orientation, poverty, career, faith, illness--the list goes on and on. One feels separate and alone.

On this first Sunday in Advent, we light the candle symbolizing hope. Bill Johnson calls us "Warriors of Hope." Advent is a time of hope and anticipation. It is a time for remembering how much God loves us. When we do this we banish fear, and we find the strength we need to face whatever comes our way. Paul says, May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit"(Romans 15:13).

As a "Warrier of Hope" we can span all frontiers, and be one in love with one another. Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

=======================

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Temenos Catholic Worker

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

Dr. River Damien Carlos Sims, D.Min, D.S.T.

==========================

“People ask me why do you write about food,

and eating and drinking. Why don’t you write

about the struggle for power and security, and

about love, the way others do? The easiest answer

is to say that, like most other humans I am hungry (M.F. Fisher!”

=========

"Christians/Catholic Workers Gone Bad!"

===================

I am addressing Christmas cards for snail mail if you would like one please send me your snail mail if I do not have it!

===================================

Demonstration at City Hall

December 4, 2024

Noon!

"Homeless People Are Children of God!"

has made you well.”[aa]

#homeless #spirituality #povertyy #youth #homelessness #lgbtq;

0 notes

aloha-eloha · 11 months ago

Text

Your Journey Begins…

That’s one of the taglines of the Füm, an essential oil inhaler that my father got me as a gift to aid in the battle against smoking cigarettes and weed. Why am I engaging in a battle against two of what I consider to be life’s greatest pleasures? I plan to undergo the Transmission of the Cellular Plan which marks one's baptism as a Raëlian. The TCP declares that I’ve accepted the Elohim as our creators and transmitted my cellular and DNA structures to them via the initiated Guide anointing the new Raëlian (me) with water. As explained in Raëlian scripture:

the principle of baptism, the transmission of one’s cellular plan, is today understandable to us, and this ceremony is scientifically explained as follows: every individual has a cellular chromosomic plan, specific to him, which vibrates with its own electromagnetic spectral emission. A Guide, whose own frequency has been noted by the Elohim during his or her initiation, can act as a relay between the new Raëlian and the Elohim’s satellite which records every human’s thought. Water is used between the new Raëlian’s forehead and the Guide’s hands so as to establish a good electrical contact, and the Raëlian baptism indicates to the Elohim that the Raëlian has both understood the messages and lives by them. It is an act of recognition.

A clear demystification, but no less vital and important than the more occult ceremonies which arose prior to the advent of the Maitreya. Fortunately I've been able to make plans to travel to a gathering celebrating the Raëlian New Year (August 6th, this coming Tuesday, and it’s the preceding Saturday night) commemorating the day a nuclear bomb was detonated over Hiroshima and ushered in the millenarian Age of Apocalypse. This is also one of the annual Raëlian holidays upon which the Transmission of the Cellular Plan may be conducted, and I'm travelling to the New Year's get-together specifically for that purpose. I trust in Raëlianism and I trust in the Elohim, and in their last prophet Claude Raël; it is to that end that I’m getting baptised (as it were). But there’s an important condition there: that the Raëlian understands the Messages and lives by them. And living by them means this:

Do not intoxicate yourself with alcoholic beverages. You may drink a little wine while eating, for it is a product of the Earth. But never intoxicate yourself. You may drink alcoholic beverages in exceptional circumstances, but in very small quantities and accompanied by solid food so that you never get drunk. Anyone who is drunk is no longer capable of being in harmony with infinity, nor able to control himself. This is something appalling in the eyes of our creators.

You will not smoke, for the human body was not made to inhale smoke. This has appalling effects on the organism and prevents total fulfillment and harmonization with infinity. You will not use drugs. You will not drug yourself in any way, for the awakened mind needs nothing outside itself to approach infinity. It is an abomination in the eyes of our creators that people think they must take drugs to improve themselves.

For someone who smokes nearly three packs of cigarettes a day, smokes or vapes THC every day, frequently gets drunk, and infrequently enjoys the pleasures of ketamine and MDMA, these restrictions by the Elohim can seem like a lot. They almost feel unfair, juxtaposed as they are with the otherwise laissez-faire attitude that Raëlianism displays toward the pursuit of pleasure more generally: the Elohim even tell us that “all things that bring pleasure are positive, as long as that pleasure is not harmful to anyone in any way,” and the aforementioned rigorous prohibitions against drug use seem to go against the grain of this. Equally galling in this preparatory, catechumen period is the salient observation in Susan J. Palmer’s (excellent book) Aliens Adored that “many rank-and-file Raelians drink wine and smoke marijuana or cigarettes, knowing it is against the rules.”

This is, of course, true in every religious tradition which requires some form of abstinence — plenty of Jews do not keep kosher, plenty of Catholics use birth control, people of all religious affiliations use recreational drugs, etc etc. It isn’t surprising that people, even people who consider themselves religious to some degree, bend or break the behavioural strictures of their ostensible faith. This kind of behaviour is something which has, hypocritically, rankled me for as long as I can remember: I’ve always been of the conviction that if you say you’re part of a religion you should believe in its essential teachings and follow its prescribed rules. I say hypocritically however because I’ve always been bad at adhering strictly to such rules myself; one of the many things I loathe and resent about myself. But that’s not the point. The point is that behaviour distancing oneself from religious orthopraxy is far more difficult to stomach from the Raëlians because the vast majority of them are converts. Like me, they read the Message and decided to have their cellular plan transmitted. They’re not rebelling against the ossified orthodoxies of their parents; rather, they’re making the same choices and declarations I’m making and still get to smoke and drink?

It’s unjust.

But of course, that’s missing the point. Just because there are Raëlians who disregard the rules that the Elohim have asked of us doesn’t mean that the rules aren’t worth keeping. In the first place smoking cigarettes is, in fact, harmful — as is smoking copious amounts of weed and occasionally doing ketamine and ecstasy, all of which is essentially playing Russian roulette with your sanity if (like me) you have severe bipolar disorder and are heavily medicated for it. I could perhaps credibly claim that getting drunk now and again, or occasionally doing certain recreational drugs, “is not harmful to anyone in any way” if I was sane and healthy; but sane and healthy I certainly ain’t.

These requests by the Elohim are themselves indisputably good and healthy. Very few people, looking back at their lives, will say they wish they hadn’t quit drinking, smoking cigarettes, or doing drugs. Much like the ancient rules of kashrut that the Elohim imparted to the Israelites these new commandments are for our own good — for my own good. One of the key reasons why I decided to be baptised as a Raëlian is that I need a solid impetus to make changes in my life. I’ve been consistently unemployed for a couple of years now but thanks to loving and supportive family members that hasn’t put a damper on my debauched lifestyle: I smoke too many cigarettes, I smoke too much weed, and I get drunk with roughly the same regularity as a popular college freshman. Although there was a time when I had the upper hand over marijuana that time has long since passed and Mary Jane has come out the victor — I spend hours every day sitting on the porch getting high. I plan my daily life around getting high, and mark the passage of the week based upon when I’m getting new THC cartridges. And since getting high makes me crave cigarettes my cigarette addiction has worsened as well. I have lost all advantage against my habits and drift through life as intoxicated as I can manage, constantly on the lookout for new and exciting ways to banish sobriety.

Formally converting to Raëlianism has long been in the offing. I was introduced to the writing of the Prophet in, I believe, elementary school — reading Geniocracy at my desk. No idea how I originally came across it, but at the time I was regarded as a ‘gifted’ student and easily saw myself among the ranks of geniuses entrusted with running Raël’s ideal society. It wasn’t until much, much later that I became acquainted with the raison d’etre of Raël’s work in the form of the Message — the fact that we were created by an extraterrestrial race known to us as the Elohim, upon which of course Geniocracy and all of the Prophet’s ancillary texts are based. By that point, in early 2017, I had converted to several different religions and was firmly ensconced in my lifelong quest as a “spiritual seeker”. It was perhaps natural that Raëlianism would be next. The insurmountable catch was that Raëlianism, sharing a trait with Christian Science and no other religion that I know of, accepts converts only at certain times of the year: if it isn’t the first Sunday in April, August 6th, October 7th, or December 13th then sorry, no Transmission of the Cellular Plan for you. As it happens, whenever a Raëlian holiday rolls around I generally have been satisfied with whatever religion I’m working with at the moment — with one exception that I’ll detail later. But now, at 27, I’m finally ready… or trying to be.

The problem which going clean off drugs represents is that my usage of marijuana is, in its purest and most essential form, self-medicating; I’ve been smoking weed for roughly the same amount of time as I’ve been treated for bipolar disorder. By far the most important arrow in my treatment quiver is prescription drugs — especially lithium — but marijuana plays an indispensable role as the vanguard against suicidal ideation. Now, I smoke marijuana both socially and alone, and in every type of mood, so by this point my drug usage is almost entirely recreational.

but not quite all the way.

The last few days provide apt examples of “getting back to my roots” with smoking weed. The original plan was to stop smoking weed on Monday, a week and a day before my baptism. I made it through Monday sober. Tuesday I got in a very hurtful fight with a close online friend right before I was due to hang out with my best friend, and since I didn’t want to carry those bad vibes into the hangout I ended up getting higher than fucking balls while chilling with him. Understandable, but not ideal, and probably not necessary in the strictest sense of the word. My father was disappointed with me but allowed that getting clean is not a flawless journey and I resolved to keep my nose clean moving forward. I was sober for another 24hrs before getting into another, worse fight with my father himself. This is where the medicinal usefulness of marijuana really shines: after the fight my mind was screaming at me to kill myself. It does that sometimes — more often lately, since there was recently a period where I was slipshod in taking my medication — but this time was bad. My odds of attempting suicide were exceedingly high. IDK if it would’ve been successful (probably not) but an attempt was likely to be made.

So I smoked some weed.

Weed is my vanguard against suicidal ideation because it takes whatever shitty thing I’m feeling and transmutes it into gold. When my brain is ceaselessly exhorting me to kill myself marijuana bursts through the door and says no, not today. Things will get better. Things are better. You can and will move past this. There are situations where getting high to cope with the vicissitudes of life is not only not ideal, but actively counterproductive. You can’t get high for every single obstacle you face; otherwise you’re robbing yourself of agency and the necessary skill of working through your problems. A decent example of this is a funeral — you shouldn’t get high before a funeral b/c that’s just tamping down your grief and other complex emotions instead of allowing yourself to truly feel it and address it in healthy and constructive ways. But sometimes you need to get high to fend off the worst your insane mind can offer you. To allay the prospect of your own funeral, which would be a sudden and unbearable financial expense for your family. I want to obey the Elohim, but I also need to bow to necessity: for someone with my particular mix of headfuckery getting high can be a lifesaver — or at least spare you the agony and consequences of a failed suicide attempt.

However much I want to keep Raëlian kosher and attain total mastery over my vanquished bad habits, it seems it’s still a work in progress. Last night I hung out with my two closest friends, both stoners, and I ended up drinking some vodka (mixed liberally with Coke over a few drinks) and partaking in a blunt that was passed around, getting, not drunk or high per se, but reasonably sauced overall — they both knew of my ongoing commitment to quitting for Raëlianism and judiciously denied me the blunt at regular intervals, although I more or less freely availed myself of the mixed drinks. I justified myself to them by saying what I really wanted was to switch to a medical card and start using edibles to satisfy — in a roundabout way — the Raëlian prohibitions against using recreational drugs or smoking anything, in addition to giving up cigs and the infrequent harder drugs like ketamine. Taking edibles only when medically necessary and giving up smoking and drinking altogether would still be huge progress. Will it ultimately please the Elohim? Maybe; I don’t know. Maybe switching to edibles will eventually lead to foregoing that arrow in my quiver, and healthier emotional processing overall. Being a 100% kosher Raëlian would be the best option but I can’t get there all at once.

My father has been both supportive and relentlessly negative — he consistently talks about what a horrible bitch my mother was when she too quit smoking (for a time) using Chantix, and about her nightmares, nausea, fatigue, aggression, voracious and fattening appetite, etc. He assures me that over the coming days it’ll be progressively worse and harder to bear. Since I smoked the remaining half-pack or so I had yesterday I’m now officially out of cigarettes, and frankly with the Füm it’s been easier than I thought it would be… but possibly not for long. I’ve been especially irritable today and retired to bed at midday to chill out, hit my Füm, and work on this post. There are signs on the horizon that things will, indeed, get worse. With that in mind it would be useful to wrap this up by focusing on why, exactly, following the Elohim’s restrictions will be worth it. To touch upon that we have to turn back to Raëlian scripture. Two primary motivations for undergoing all this hardship are unearthed in Intelligent Design; namely love for the Elohim, and the promise of a great reward.

Why should we love the Elohim? Well, don’t you love your parents? We should love the Elohim because they created us and, as a result, they love and guide us. They have guided us through the world’s religions and have bestowed favours upon men like Job who loved them, and in this millenarian age they want us more enlightened men to also love them in return:

We, the creators, will only show ourselves officially if humanity is grateful to us for having created them. We fear that human beings might hold a grudge against us, which we cannot accept. We would like to begin making open contact with you and give you the benefit of our considerable advance in scientific knowledge - so long as we could be sure that you would not turn against us, and that you would love us as your parents.

Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker!... Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou? or thy work, He hath no hands? Woe unto him that saith unto his father, What begettest thou? Isaiah 45: 9-10.

…the majority among us thinks that you will prove to us that you love us, and that you will never try to destroy us. That is the least we expect before coming to help you.

This is why the Raëlian message is so important. The world is a religious place and billions of people would gladly say they love their Creator — before the Elohim return we must make known who, exactly, that creator is. According to the Elohim “humans have almost proved that they are worthy of being recognized by their creators as their equals. They lack only... a little love. Love for each other, and particularly for their creators.” I try to have love for my fellow man — a task that can be difficult — but loving our scientific creators is no great burden to someone who understands the Message. On the contrary, it’s a pleasure; a pleasure which drives me to live and do as they have asked even if those particulars can be trying. But the ‘stick’ of these stipulations do not come without a mighty carrot:

Those people who will be entitled to scientific reincarnation on the planet of the eternals will live in a world where food will be brought to them without their having to make the slightest effort, and where there will be marvelously beautiful female and male partners scientifically created for the sole purpose of satisfying their pleasures. They will live there eternally, seeking only to fulfill themselves doing whatever pleases them. As for those who have made others suffer, they will be re-created, and their suffering will be equal to the pleasure of the eternals.

If you recognize the Elohim as your creators, and if you love them and wish to welcome them, if you try to do good to other people by making as much use as you can of all your potential, if you think of your creators regularly, trying through telepathy to make them understand that you love them, if you help the Guide of Guides to accomplish his mission, you will without a doubt be entitled to scientific reincarnation on the planet of the eternals.

These promises are just a glimpse of the pleasure found in our scientific recreation after death, and are a hint of greater delights than can be found in any pack of cigarettes, blunt, or bottle of wine which our world can proffer. My love for the Elohim and my present suffering will not go without reward: the hardships I undergo now are signposts pointing toward a more glorious eternity than I can imagine. It won’t be easy to get there — surely it will be anything but. But on that day when the Third Temple of the old prophecies is built and the Elohim return, or on that day I am (hopefully) recreated on the Planet of the Eternals, being an observant Raëlian will be the most worthwhile undertaking of my life. Troubles of quitting or not I’m excited for my Transmission of the Cellular Plan and for the lifelong journey which lies ahead.

I hope you all, dear readers, will follow along with me.

#Spotify #aliens #ufos #extraterrestrial #ufo #ufology #ancient aliens #aliens and ufos #religion #transmission of the cellular plan

0 notes

jdgo51 · 1 year ago

Text

The Boy Who Saw the Battle of Bunker Hill

Today's inspiration comes from:

100 Bible Verses That Made America

by Robert J. Morgan

Editor’s note: Today in the United States it’s Memorial Day, the day we honor those who have lost their lives defending their country. Today, let’s pray for families who have lost a loved one in battle or in service. Enjoy this excerpt of 100 Bible Verses That Made America.

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us." — Psalm 62:8

"'After the Boston Tea Party, the British issued punitive measures against Boston, which prompted the Colonies to convene the First Continental Congress in 1774. John Adams of Massachusetts traveled to Philadelphia, leaving his wife, Abigail, and their children in Braintree, near Boston, which was quickly becoming a battle zone. British troops began swarming the area, and shots were fired at nearby Lexington and Concord.

Abigail was the daughter of a minister and a force to be reckoned with, but she grew increasingly anxious for her children’s safety. On June 15, she wrote her husband, “We now expect our seacoast to be ravaged; perhaps the very next letter I write will inform you that I am driven away from our yet quiet cottage... We live in continual expectation of alarms.

Courage, I know we have in abundance... but powder — where shall we get a sufficient supply?”1

Seven-year-old John Quincy felt the strain, too, later writing, “My mother with her infant children dwelt every hour of the day and of the night liable to be butchered in cold blood or taken and carried into Boston as hostages by any foraging or marauding detachment of men.”2

On June 17, Abigail and her children heard the guns and cannons that marked the beginning of the Battles of Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill. As the British started up the slopes, a command reportedly passed through the American lines: “Don’t shoot until you see the white of their eyes.”

Trust in Him at all times, you people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. — Psalm 62:8

When the guns began firing, the sound traveled for miles. Hearing the roar of the cannons and the sounds of the battle, Abigail took John Quincy and hiked to the top of Penn Hill, where they watched the battle unfold across the bay. The Boston neighborhood of Charlestown went up in flames, and the winds blew the heat and smoke into their faces. Waves of British soldiers fell while charging up Bunker’s hill. The Patriots were driven back, and it was the bloodiest battle thus far in the War. The next morning Abigail wrote John, and in the middle of her letter, she burst into the cherished scriptures sustaining her, especially a passage from Psalm 62:

The day — perhaps the decisive day — is come, on which the fate of America depends. My bursting heart must give vent at my pen. I have just heard that our dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously fighting... “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; but the God of Israel is He that giveth strength and power to His people. Trust in Him at all times, ye people, pour out your hearts before Him; God is a refuge for us.” Charlestown is laid in ashes. The battle began upon our intrenchments upon Bunker’s Hill, Saturday morning about three o’clock, and has not ceased yet... It is expected they will come out over the Neck tonight, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty God, cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear friends! How many have fallen, we know not. The constant roar of the cannon is so distressing that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep.3

John Quincy Adams never forgot the carnage that filled his seven-year-old eyes as he stood transfixed by the cannons, gunfire, charging soldiers, dying troops, burning city, and unfolding history. He later said it made an impression on his mind that haunted him the rest of his life. Even in old age he couldn’t bring himself to attend celebrations associated with the events of that day.4

“I saw with my own eyes the fires of Charlestown and heard Britannia’s thunders in the battle... and witnessed the tears of my mother and mingled them with my own,” he wrote.5

Abigail finally turned and left the bloody panorama, leading her son back home where she made him promise to repeat the Lord’s Prayer every morning before rising from bed, a practice he kept the rest of his life.6

Thus the little family watched, prayed, trusted God, poured out their hearts to Him — and melted Abigail’s collection of pewter spoons into musket balls for the Patriots.7"'

Abigail Adams, Letters of Mrs. Adams, 1 (Boston: Charles C. Little & James Brown, 1840), 36–37. Harlow Giles Unger, John Quincy Adams (Boston: De Capo Press, 2012), 12. Adams, Letters of Mrs. Adams, 39–40. Nathaniel Philbrick, Bunker Hill (New York: Viking, 2013), 293. Edward Everett Hale, ed., Old and New, 10 (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1875), 508, quoting John Quincy Adams, Memoirs of John Quincy Adams, Comprising Portions of His Diary from 1795 to 1848, vols. 1–2, Charles Frances Adams, ed. (Philadelphia: Lippincott & Company, 1874). Unger, John Quincy Adams, 17. 7. Unger, John Quincy Adams, 17.

Excerpted with permission from 100 Bible Verses That Made America by Robert Morgan, copyright Robert J. Morgan.

0 notes

birchbow · 2 years ago

Text

CLOWN CHURCH THE COLLECTION

For the me and my readers both; my reference document for Clown Church nonsense. Compiled character ref, clown scriptures, fleet ships, saints, schoolfeeder names and specialties, etc. Subject to change and additions.

EDIT: nice lmao

Troll Genders Post [X] Drone Logistics Post [X]

Griefing Specializations

Subjugglator – frontline barbarian/tank, high damage low defense. Not much concerned with stealth, not worried about taking hits. Ex: Feeder Rissan, Sungazer, Cisine, Khalse, Travye.

Laughsassin – stealth and assassination, not good at taking hits but very good at infiltration. Quieter/subtler weapons, or the strength and size to make one hit count. Mime-inspired paint. Ex: Rishet, Kurloz, Untoxxic, Hurrel

Contorturenist – field interrogation experts, armored, usually with long-distance weapons. Clean-up crew for missions where information will need to be extracted during the process of the mission. Ex: Ianche and Verato Uderak, Yettah

Acrobatterer – frontline opportunist, experts in speed and evasion. Many lighter, faster hits instead of one heavy one. Better at taking prisoners. Friendly rivalry with the subjugglators, because they’ll often use a noisy, head-on assault as a distraction to opportunistically whack their target on the head—sound tactics or cowardly cull-stealing depending on who you ask. Ex: Ravell and Raywar Olemma. If asked, some of the younger clowns would probably group Karkat here.

Gymnabsolutionist – On missions, a form of field chaplain, praying for fallen faithful to make sure the messiahs took note of their sick-ass sacrifice. On-fleet, spiritual council and advisors. The oldest is expected to lay to rest the soul of the previous Grand Highblood and help the new one through their prayers/vows, although this role hasn’t come into play in a very, very long time.

Joker – Not technically a position you can train for, but colloquially a highblood who multi-classes or whose style and focus doesn’t fit neatly into a category. Gamzee is technically a subjugglator (very big, doesn’t give a shit if he gets hit) but can rapidly flip to acrobatterer tactics. Travye's bonekind uses subjugglator style, but his bookkind doesn't fall into a category.

Saints And Martyrs

Saint Mortor the Defender — Burned alive to protect other purplebloods from lowbloods; like his giant salamander lusus, he proved incredibly hard to burn, and his execution pyre burned for a night and a day. Saint of aspiring martyrs.

Saint Trasti — Prayed to the messiahs for vengeance as she was cut apart by lowbloods; when they burned her corpse, the messiahs listened and brought up a plague from her ashes. Prayers to bring a plague on your enemies or for sick/poisoned faithful

Saint Ekorot — Patron saint of pupation and cocoons, and especially the faithful who die during pupation. One of the oldest saints, said to have hatched with the lower half of her body deformed/largely missing and survived a perigee before being found by the church, surrounded by dead lowbloods and wild animals she'd killed. She was sanctified on the spot because lo, it was fucking dope as hell.

Her bladekind became the Knife of Messiahs' Mercy, the weapon the Grand Highblood uses for ceremonial culling of the faithful (By the new Grand Highblood to finish off their predecessor after the fight is won, when church kin pupate too malformed to live or are so deeply wounded in battle they won't survive, etc).

Saint Jakill — Fought an entire army despite being ripped to increasingly brutal pieces. Refused to go down, until his skull was finally split with his own hatchet. Patron saint of berserkers, death-rages and suicide missions.

Schoolfeeders Of The Flagship Dark Carnival

Halore Travye — The Stædfast, advanced scripture and exegesis.

Separates his letters with an extra space, capitalizes nouns and the letter I. Square bracket smiles/frowns.

"sacredDidaction: T h e q u I c k b r o w n F o x j u m p e d o v e r t h e l a z y D o g . : o ["

Veneno Krelle — The Untoxxic, advanced mediculling, poisons/antidotes.

Doubles Xs and inserts them in place of similar sounds. X-eyed smiles/frowns. When speaking they tend to have difficulty finding and forming words due to a long, long career being exposed to all sorts of neurotoxins and poisons.

"abstersiveDetoxifier: If you axx me, the foxx has better things to be doing. X...X" (=uX, XnX XsX)

Ianche Uderak — The Inquirer, advanced information management/propaganda.

Hisses on S, ends all sentences as questions except the occasional Shocking Headline. Snake-tongued faces.

"mortalRigor: Sssso why wasss the fox with the dog at all? >:oY Ssscandal!! Quick Brown Fox Hass Torrid Pitch Affair With Ssslothful Barkbeasst?"

Arelux Stelos — The Sungazer, schoolfeeder of galactic navigation, omens and starcraft.

Starts and ends with ~* and *~, replaces I and O with 1 and 0. Tends to trail out words and emphasize with capitals and multiple asterisks/punctuation when worked up, which is often. Smiles/ frowns have starry eyes.

"grandlyCosmic: ~*000h mess1ahs you w1ll **never** bel1eve what the STARS t0ld me t0day ab0ut the f0x's dest1ny!!!!*~ *u*

Belico Rissan — Warmaker, Combat/griefing, avid collector of various strife specibi

Largely normal clown syntax but will frequently phrase things with all-caps over-the-top violent language. Doesn't bother to capitalize or use periods but an avid user of exclamation points.

"sanguineEclectica: the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy barkbeast and landed in THE PIT OF A SPIKED AND BLOOD-PUTRID CULL-TRAP as a lesson to complacent wrigglers everywhere! :o)"

Karkat Vantas — Schoolfeeder of quadrantcraft, originally as a joke, but unfortunately for all the elder members of the church the new baby clowns don't know that and he's increasingly accepted and legitimized with every class he teaches.

Minera Tresor — Scriptural basics (deceased)

The Holy Holidays

TURNING NIGHT/DAY

The troll equivalent on New Years Night/Day; for most of the population it's a raucous all-caste night of celebrating that they've made it another sweep without dying. For the church it's their most sober holiday, a reminder that another sweep came and went without the promised Vast Honk and Dark Carnival. Faces are painted white (funeral paint) during the night, and in the morning everyone takes off their paint entirely until the new sweep is rung in at noon.

In the meantime, it's expected everyone will spend the night/day fasting from food and drinks, and tempting themselves with things they want or enjoy, whether that's making your favorite food and not eating it, or hooking up with a quadrant and then breaking off before either of you are satisfied.

Then at noon everybody goes buckwild and indulges until they're sick.

ALL COLORS WEEK

A very rowdy church-wide holiday. Work forbidden, only fun and capricious impulse. Copious colored clothes and decorations, painting, and powder dye are rampant. It’s traditional to stash little brightly-colored objects (and vials of blood) throughout the rest of the sweep and then hang them out a day at a time through the week so that the decorations get slowly more colorful and vivid. They lump the seadwellers in with the rustbloods and the last colors to get hung up on the last day are the colors of the church.

There’s also a different major saint for each day, which some people remember to pray to and some people don’t. There’s a lot less quiet internal prayer at this point too--if you have something for a saint or messiah to hear, you probably shout it.

Also; massive games of--essentially--capture the flag. Teams are assigned according to age group, with the youngest/most numerous cohort starting on the first day. They’re split in half into a team with a seadweller-color flag and rustblood-color flag, which they play for for the first day. After that the next age-group comes in with their color, and all three teams try to collect the flags, and onward and upward until the schoolfeeders and generals come in to play, each with an incredibly high-point-value purple flag. You have to challenge them to a duel to win one, in whatever area they teach/specialize in. It’s pretty widely assumed that you won’t actually beat them, they just respect your attempt enough to hand it over, but if you do everybody is like !!!!!!! WOW HOLY SHIT DUDE and you’re a hero to the rest of your team. The points system is pretty unofficial but the more flags you have, and the higher the blood color of those flags, the more you “score”. Winner gets preferential treatment for the next two weeks.

Ships Of The Holy Fleet

Names of ships are subject to change when a new captain takes over, although they aren’t always changed—when Kurloz joined the fleet, the flagship was the Painted Disciple, and Kurloz changed the name to the Dark Carnival after he successfully challenged the previous Grand Highblood.

The Blessed is intensely focused on prayer and meditation and prophesy—much less in the way of combat training etc. You can get religious training anywhere on the fleet, esp. the flagship, but if you want to basically focus your life on spirituality the Blessed is full of like-minded trolls.

The Orisoner is Just Straight Up Vibing to an extent that many trolls find unnerving, but the crew of the Blessed are absolutely ride or die with her/him/them/etc. His powers are 100% min-maxed into sucking hate/rage/fear out of people, and the resulting good vibes and soft euphoria are a powerful (and borderline addictive) combination. Secretly terrifying, because nobody wins fights against her--because very few people can even bring themselves to lift a hand against them in the first place.

irenicDevotion: no caps, sooo many smilies :o) and just like... emphasis extensions my duuude :oD copafuckincetic

The Sinner is a party boat, which is considered an act of worship in and of itself. People just get rowdy and wild and live it up at all times. If there was air in space, you would be able to hear it as you approached to board—when it’s landed, you can hear it, and it’s super eerie. Lots of trolls whooping and honking and shouting in a big metal box.

The Libation's powers are addictive in a different way; he's physically intoxicating to be around. If he focuses, he can easily have most people, especially people who aren't used to being drunk/high, blacked out and pretty much incapacitated.

ecstaticEroticism: 8RO h'es. straiht up nightdrinking rn. look hers his 8onkinggourd. all teh 8s their 8s its little drinking gurds. motherfuckr this paryts LIT roflmao

The Joker is a pretty standard barrack ship, although it has the notable reputation that under the current captain if you’re cheeky enough to do something and do it well, you should be allowed to get away with it even if it’s against the rules. It takes the majority of mediocre-to-fair trainees every generation, and compared to the Dark Carnival, a much higher percentage of its graduates go on to live off-fleet on shuttles or colonies.

Sister Waspclaw is a walking test of ability to read a passive level of threat and calculate accordingly. Very talkative, encouraging and pleasant, with an extremely dangerous and unhinged core. Her whole philosophy is that you can get far in life by figuring out what the most daring trick you could pull and get away with is--but it's very important you don't try to take even an inch with her. She's tiny, but her claws are incredibly venomous and very few trolls in the entire church fleet can match her for speed.

toxicAudacity: wazpclaw'z zo excited to talk zhe can't even bother with the zentencez and ztuff like that and it all flowz together but if you pizz her off you're DEAD MEAT and you can tell if you've pizzed her off becauze when zhe's angry zzzzzhe zzZZTARTZ GETTING A LITTLE UNHINGED AZZZZZHOLE!!! >:o[

Elixir and Stardust are commercial centers; the two ships used to be separate, but the people living there had so much reason to cross between the two, they put boarding passages up and welded them in place, fusing them together. People who handle the dark, mysterious and miraculous arts of financial management and resource acquisition work here. It’s also the most common place for the few cult members who aren’t purple-blooded, one of the few places they’re comparatively safe. Some non-church quadrants of purplebloods will also set up hive here.

The Abattoir is canny, sober, and calculating, a loyal ally until slighted and then a bitter enemy. The nature of her identity is a topic of fierce public debate, and he's certainly not giving out answers. Whether her consciousness is originally one of his bodies now inhabiting two, an amalgam of two minds indistinguishably linked, or some completely external force puppeting two bodies, everybody can agree she's damn good to have on your side, and that crossing him is a fatal mistake.

duelReactor: II speak clearly and concisely because II respect your time, motherfucker, and forsooth you will respect me similarly. II am busy today: I am on-ship and I am travelling to the flagship for work. II will be back in office by sunrise.

The Freakshow is a cesspit of violence and bloodshed. A very dangerous place, but also prime picking ground if you have strong conciliatory urges and are looking for your One True Diamond. People who want to settle shit once and for all can come here, and the winner will probably get a cut of the pot from the people betting on their death-match. The bloodshed and rage are technically holy and irreproachable but most fleet faithful tend to give this ship a wide berth.

The Behemoth is the epitome of Alternian culture: take what you want through force of bloodcolor and unmitigated violence, and maintain it through merciless supremacy. Sharper than it likes to act, and with a blatant disregard for any power except its own monstrous strength, it's been butting heads with the Grand Highblood ever since it came to power, and only a surprisingly canny ability to judge the rare occasions it's outmatched has kept it from marching on the Big Top and trying to take the throne by force.

brutishAnnihilation: O- BIG MOTHERFUCKER, BIG LETTERS, ONLY LITTLE BITCHES BOTHER WITH PUNCTUATION -O

The Penitent is essentially church jail, for sinners and troubled faithful, especially/specifically those who don’t have any close mentors or quadrants to help rehabilitate them. It’s also where prisoners under suspicion of church-related crimes are kept to wait for inquisition, as well as non-urgent/non-imperial messengers from outside the church who are waiting to be heard by the Highblood.

The Judgment is both incredibly stern and strict, and also surprisingly forgiving--her job isn't to decide who to cull, it's to decide which sinful highbloods can make their way back into the church, through a lot of prayer and ritualized punishment. In person, though, she's a terrifying battle-ax of a troll with zero patience for dilly-dallying or lollygagging or talking back or not talking back enough or failing to use her title or answering clearly and concisely!!! She has shit to do!

consecratedCourtroom: Very rarely embellishes. Very rarely ends sentences with anything but a period. Speaks CONCISELY to get her point across. Uses emphasis scaling that always seems a LITTLE passive aggressive and sarcastic. Occasional interjections of OVERRULED. GUILTY. DISMISSED. IRRELEVANT. Etc etc.

The Dark Carnival is a little bit of everything, but the clowns who work there are generally the best of the best in at least one area, or extremely promising. Intensely-devoted cultists, genii of violence and/or interrogation, artists, artisans, the rare mechanics, geeks and scientists, navigators, or just trolls who show a lot of ambition and leadership, all get funneled into the Dark Carnival to be trained up as heads of their respective fields.

Trolls are always coming and going from ship to ship for whatever they need or to visit other faithful, and there’s always the constant low level of kinship between any members of the church, but there is also a certain amount of distance between the microcultures of each different ship.

Outfitting is pretty consistent ship to ship, with exceptions; on the Penitent nobody but the sufferingmasters and the captain are allowed weapons, armor, or decoration. On the Blessed clothes tend to be plain and austere by cult standard, but they are allowed to wear armor and carry weapons.

Scriptures (to date)

Beginnings - a clown book of Genesis, of sorts. Creation myths and ancient church history.

“When it started we had fuck-all but dark. And so it stayed until Messiahs pulled back the curtain and said ‘let’s get this motherfucking party started’. And they threw stardust down and it hit mud and it made dirtbloods, baked all dry enough like they could crumble if you breathed wrong. And it hit water and it made waders; wet, cold, mirthless salty motherfuckers with too much eye for their own motherfucking sparkle. But where it hit oceanside it made trolls out of sand, all capricious as fuck and changing with the water. Trolls who could go hard or give when they had to. All balanced on the universe high wire and not ever falling sea-side or ground-side but right there on their line like the acrobatterers they were. From the sand were made the faithful; from the beachwood their horns, their goddamn bone snapped off from sea-floor stones on mountains under the water. And what they made was Troll. Only that. Just that and no motherfucking more. And when the last world was all fit together, messiahs looked on it and said ‘motherfucking money’.

“Remember this story, faithful, and remember its lesson. Change yourself always like sand in the water, you motherfuckers hand-shaped of surf and whimsy.”

“Urge of chaos and whim of change be ever on your skin like paint, in your pusher like blood, on your horns like a crown. Mirthful, faithful. Kickass and giving no shits.”

Beginnings 10:5-6 - Never tolerate to be told what you know yourself to be, fam. I've told you what the fuck it is. The rest is on you.

(Book of) Colors - church policy on lowbloods, seadwellers, social order and painting, as well as the meat of the “Dark Carnival” scriptures/afterlife mythology.

“You’re next. You’re motherfucking next, give no mercy because the mercy of the messiahs is only as much as fits in their hands and what’s poured out on shitblooded scum will not be given you in the dark carnival gates and—”

“The Vast Honk will deafen and take from us, and all together we’ll head on up and get our dance on through fire and over skulls and horns—”

“No fear, brothers and sisters, no fear of the waders, the brine-drinkers. There's no mirth in the sea and no painting the water doesn't wash off and you've got your hands on the righteous shit they won't ever know. No fear of the waders, for you're higher than them. You're higher than anybody.”

“I fucked up, I fucked up, the fault's mine and there's no motherfucker I can share it with, I fucked up, forgive me.”

Sacrament - ceremonies, specifically related to new initiates and promotions within the church. Naming ceremonies, promotions, priesthood bestowal, etc.

Sideshows - A catch-all collected name for treatises and theological musings of great church figures deemed most truly motherfucking money.

“Sideshows 8:1 - Get nasty, bitch! And let the haters all motherfucking gag on it.”

Suffering - Stories of martyr deaths and heretic executions. Unique in that it is occasionally edited or added to if the church believes a story has been included in error or that a modern event needs to be added to the record.

"Suffering (Of Saint Juyinn The Consumed) 7:46 - From me, take this: don’t have to get ready if you STAY motherfucking ready."

“…I am lost, kin. My eyes see no colors I know.”

The Cult of Flesh were a heretic movement deemed too dangerous to the faith of the readers to be included in the book of Suffering. Their belief that the Messiahs came to Alternia and were raised in flesh bodies by a troll acting as a lusus has been stricken from this record; their attempt to win over the current Grand Highblood, who they consider the descendant/reincarnation of the holy troll-lusus Brother Immortal, caused a schism and internal inquisition violent enough to be purged from the accepted imperial history.

Hilarities - Platitudes and words of wisdom, including the rules of comedy, the Great Unfunny Jokes, and some really quite good dating tips.

“It’s not a wise one who leaves the place of their motherfucking heart untimely. No laughter in the suffering of those early lost of their quadrants so rest you with heart and spade and club and diamond and speak of the fucking Hilarity to each other.”

“Fill the night enough full of holy deed and you’ll have no need of sopor to bless you with dreaming.”

“Ha ha, you salty motherfucker.”

“Let your spade burn hot, drive you up and make you great. In this motherfucking way your kin will increase you and I’m not just talking about your bulge, LOL.”

“The wage of weakness is death; fear the only edge sharpened by waiting.”

“Take all you can grasp in your greed and your lust. If something you want comes to your fronds, motherfucker, take it and run like it’s yours.”

Hot Shit – Letters from a historical Grand Highblood to his quadrants. Considered by some to be a holy template of pity, and to others a hot piece of smut that has been hilariously canonized.

(Hot Shit [Flush Letters] 1:1) "My sister in mirth, blessed in hilarity, peerless in holy rage; u up girl? :o?"

“Only let me hear you want me! Hold me down and devour me, my love.”

“When my feet touch soil again I’ll make my way to you. Take me as you like, heart of my heart; throw me down and fuck me under night sky and the Messiahs will only hear me sing praise out louder. I’m hollow as a thunderstruck tree for you, sister. I need you like starving needs food, like rage needs mercy, like sin needs forgiveness, like pain needs pleasure.”

"In grandest tradition of hot motherfuckers at the prime of their lives, fuck if I don't get mad stupid when I'm horny, sister. :o("

"Well the fuck I will reward you when you come back to hive. So well will I show my love for your thicc motherfucking ass, not for a night and a day and a night will you get feeling back in your motherfucking legs."

(Hot Shit [Pale Letters]) "Let me climb in by your bones, so you feel me when you touch yourself steady; so I can hold your pusher from inside and hear all and every pretty noise you make for me."

Revelries - Praises and adulation to the messiahs.

"Revelries 6:18 - Oh scream, oh cry, oh laugh and laugh and laugh, oh sing! Oh, tell it again!"

"I'll sing out my praises with wicked flow to the messiahs who saw fit to smile on me. I'll praise and shout how I'm greatly blessed, I'll cry and weep how I'm not fucking worthy; their claws are in my soul, in the shape of my body, in the beat of my pusher. Oh, my holy kin, we are color and light inside. We are stardust. Hands raised and faces laughing, spitting sick and delirious, together in glory.”

“…the halls around you will be painted bright and all the glitter and shine you’d want; get ye lit as fuck, brothers and sisters, let the beauty of their holy color and noise spin your pan like a motherfucking top.”

“Oh that I’m of use to you, all times and ways and places, my idle rest is to watch your show and my dreaming to hear the holy motherfucking noise."

“For not a troll was ever made, who didn’t fuck up nightly; never a faithful hatched who deserved their seat at the show.”

“Never will we be anything but loud, nitty-gritty dirty little freaks. Lo, pour elixir and raise a glass.”

Conviction - The duties and trials of the church

“Conviction 1:7-11 - If your kin gets you sinning, cut them away, no true fucking family can they be. If the noise from your flap be blasphemous, carve it from you and stitch shut your filthy mouth, motherfucker. If your flesh leads to sin scourge it clean, washed in blood; cut away rot, and leave only what’s holy. Repentance by mouth never saved a soul; spill blood and flesh in price of forgiveness.”

"Conviction 4:55 - For the great punchline is yet to come, faithful, and even this shit you can yet bear."

"Conviction 9:42 - Mighty, the righteous. Righteous, the mighty."

“…Leave ye not the dirtbound warm of blood to crawl and scrape, and waste offerings in vain. They owe you penance and awe and what they give you are owed to take. A good ruler does the mercy of taking.”

“When your feet are unsure and what comes on you is un-fucking-funny, seek you holy suffering in penance.”

“Dumbass, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“If fool-ass jokers fail to learn from looking, let their bodies learn it for them; scars teach best what a motherfucker’s too deaf to hear.”

"Might as well take blade and burning to flesh in torture as give pity to a wound that doesn’t want it, motherfucker. Pity to the wounded flesh, and pity to the wounded heart, but the pride would sooner bleed the fuck out.”

“Every bone has a point for breaking. Every motherfucker crawled out wrong, and all we lowly motherfuckers can do is play catch-up. There's work for doing, kin, to earn your ass the ticket messiahs handed you for free."

Angels - Death, last rites, damnation/double death, hell, etc.

“[death] itself is not a glory; more glorious far to walk on and trail paint where you walk.”

"Angels 3:33 - And if any godless motherfucker thought they'd make it away safe, you'll teach them otherwise, my crafty bitches. To cullpit and paintpot with each and every."

‘I suffer pain, and want become need…I am allowed no motherfucking means to make resistance. I wait for death, brothers. Pour one out for remembrance of my soul’.”

“Why seek martyrdom when you could bring a hundred down with you? Turn martyrdom to murderdom. Paint the way; make them pay. Shit, kin, let’s be destroyers.”

Devotions - Prayers, repentances and rituals. (”Leader.” “Congregation/faithful.”)

Repentance of sin (ending) - “Hail messiahs both.” “Their works, their great motherfucking joke in the pits of the worlds they left and in the space in between.” “Hail messiahs both.” “Your penance is paid.”

Reaffirmation of faith - “If I go false on promised devotions let messiahs grind stardust out my bones.” “If you’d paint the face of flawed unholy troll with the shades of our holy messiahs, answer yes brother I will.” “Yes brother, I will.”“If you believe truly in what holy mess and bloody riot will come at end of worlds, if you plan on being full and motherfucking ready, make some motherfuckin’ noise.” “(Response, freeform).”“Have your ticket ready when you kick it, give me an amen brothers and sisters.” “Amen.” “No mercy, faithful one.” “Amen.” “No fear.”

The Dark Scriptures - only shown to religious sacrifices before their deaths. Readers must subsequently die. Contents are a mystery.

His/Her/Their Mirthful Majesty

King/Queen/Crown of Colors

His/Her/Their Holy Hilarity

Biggest brother/sister

The Ringmaster

#Homestuck #CLOWN CHURCH BAYBEEEEE #anyway I have always had trouble finding my much older (now outdated) post of scriptures so this one's getting pinned lol #Hopefully this helps the people who have had to scroll through my whole-ass blog in the past trying to find ref #I keep this plus story notes at the bottom of the document because there is SO much lore and bullshit I have to remember #and my memory is NOT that good lol #art time!

575 notes · View notes

marinerainbow · 2 years ago

Text

So... I've finally listened to the whole soundtrack of 'Six: the Musical'. And I want to post more of my work here.

So, taking inspiration from @slashingdisneypasta drabble set, here are imagines of the six wives, but with Disney Villains and different Y/N's.

TW warning: If you know anything about the musical or the history, you probably already know the warnings in this. Death, jealousy, infidelity, sexual references, attempted murder, actual murder, and trauma. You have been warned.

Claude Frollo - No Way

(I'm not entirely sure if this is historically accurate, I tried to find more information but couldn't. But we're here to have fun, we aren't in history class, so I'm ignoring it.)

You must agree that, baby, in all the time I've been by your side

I've never lost control, no matter how many times I knew you lied

Have my golden rule gotta keep my cool, yeah, baby

Frollo wasn't a priest, no matter how much he liked to carry himself as one. As such, he, just like everyone else, had to get married. And you, Y/N, had the 'honor' of becoming his spouse years ago.

On the outside, you two seemed to be an unstoppable pair: the cruel judge, and his cold, unassuming wife. But that couldn't have been more wrong.

No one has the curse of knowing this awful man like you do. Not even Quasimodo, the poor boy who you wish you could grant his dreams, knows of all the atrocities this man thinks up in his narrow-veiwed mind. The gypsies that are hunted down by him know too much, but at least they can voice their own protests.

You, however, must suffer in silence. All for God's will to have the wife subservient to her husband. Frollo loved to throw that one in your face constantly. Even though you read and quote the same damn scriptures he does.

I've put up with your sh- like every single day

But now it's time to shh and listen to what I have to say

Your only friend and ally in all this is the archdeacon. He, like you, is all too aware of Frollo's sins. But, just like you, there is little to nothing he can do about it. All he can do, is tell you when your husband is back on his shit again.

And you, even though you desperately want to knock that old fool off of his pedestal, know you can't. He is the judge, and you are just married to him. He is the one with all the power here, and all you can do is stay humble and loyal, like any good wife should do.

That was, until you heard of a certain woman who caught his eye.

You must think that I'm crazy, you wanna replace me

baby there's n-n-n-n-n-n-no way

If you think for a moment I'd grant you annulment

Just hold up, there's n-n-n-n-n-n-no way

Even though you two haven't shared a bed in years- yes literal years, you still know that look in your husband's eye when he wants something. And you knew that he didn't want to burn Esmerelda at the stake.

Or maybe he did, since of course he would blame her for his sinful desires. Of course it's not his fault that he not only wants to sleep with the Romanian woman, but wanted to sleep with someone who wasn't wearing his ring.

There were many times, you admit, that you should have tried to intervene. Quasimodo and his mother were one of them. But you were so used to just focusing on your own safety and appearance that you had never gotten involved in his affairs. But the night you overheard Frollo, practically screaming into his fireplace, "Let her be mine, and mine alone!" was when you finally had enough.

You got me down on my knees, please tell me what you think I've done wrong

Been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along

If you can just explain a single thing I've done to cause you pain, I'll go

All the years you held your tongue, all the years of built up rage had spilled out of your mouth that night like a broken dam. If Frollo was the burning fire, you were the raging storm.

Not only was he going to pursue- if you could call it that- another woman while you have been nothing but loyal to him, but he also carries himself to be even greater than your own cathedral. How he constantly blamed everyone else. Why? Why did he see himself as entitled to all this? What did he ever do that made him above God's will? What did you ever do to him that made him think he could just do what he pleased while you swallowed your own pride?

But fine. If he can give you one reason, just one, where he has the right to drag an innocent woman down with him, and even go so far as to blame God for his own desires, then you'll let him continue his buisness like normal, and you will wait for him at home like you always do.

No? You've got nothing to say?

I'm not going away

You made me a wife, so I'll be queen 'til the end of my life

Of course, you're not surprised when he just gives you the same speech about how everyone was at fault but himself. So, in his own language, he had no reason.

He promises he'll deal with you later, before heading out to go find Esmerelda. Being sure to lock you in the same room so you couldn't warn anybody. And of course, no matter how loud you screamed or pounding on the door, no one came to help you.

You got the front row seat to watching the dancers' trial. You got to watch in horror as Notre Dam threatened to be burnt to the ground, and feel proud of the deformed boy finally standing up to his 'master'. And, hours later, when your good friend the archdeacon finally finds you, you can barely contain the relieved smile on your lips when he informs you of your new status as the corrupt judges widow.

Gaston - Don't Lose Ur Head

(This one gets a double warning since it's a bit... uh... Well... This song made my inner bitch unleash. So this imagine is going to get extra spicy (I'm shocked but also kind of proud of myself, ngl))

He wanted me, obviously, messaging me like everyday

Couldn't be better, then he sent me a letter and who am I kidding

I was prêt-à-manger

When you moved into the little French town, it didn't take long for all the villagers to notice you. Especially the boys. You were the next most beautiful girl in town after some other gal named Belle, so obviously they wanted you. Though quite frankly, you found them all boring, or gross. Haven't these people heard of dentures??

You were starting to lose hope of finding a night of fun in this town... Until you saw him. The one and only hero of this quiet little town, Gaston. You saw him, and you knew that he was going to be this villages saving grace for you.

And you knew damn well he wanted you too. Gaston isn't exactly the kind of guy to hold back.

Ooh, sent a reply

Ooh, just saying hi

Ooh, you're a nice guy

I'll think about it, maybe, X.O baby~

His ego was annoying, yes. How he just expected you to fall in his arms made you roll your eyes, even if you did want him to shove you onto the nearest surface and hike up your skirt. But hey, why not use it as an opportunity to play a game of cat and mouse? After all, he is a hunter; surely, he could recognize a good chase.

Just like any hunter worth his salt, he followed the tracks you left for him, finding all the signs you were close by, but just out of his sight where he had to keep trudging through to find you... Just before you'd slip away. What? Did he really think the new girl was going to make this easy for him?

It's only when you let him come closer, let him stroll into your home like he owns the damn place muttering about how you've "Finally learnt your place~", do you let him touch you... All night... Many times... And a lot of broken furniture.

Needless to say, Gaston decided that you were too good to just be a one and done lay. He was going to come back for you, and you knew it.

I didn't know I would move in with his misses

What? Get a life!

You're living with his wife?

Like, what was I meant to do?

Unfortunately though, this definitely caught the whole towns attention, especially all the ladies. And, in a small town, gossip and rumors spread like wildfire.

Suddenly, you heard people talking about you behind your back. Did they seriously think you were deaf!? And now, you hear that some people are jealous- both of Gaston and you, while others were confused. Wasn't Gaston seeing Belle? Were you some sort of mistress?

Oh, hell no! You don't want to be part of some threesome. You don't want to be the other woman. And after talking to this Belle, you know she has no interest either, in both an open relationship and Gaston himself.

Well, now that Belle filled you in on what was really going on- she's such a sweet gal. Maybe you should invite her over after you buy new furniture- you had no qualms with finding Gaston, in the middle of town, and ripping him a whole new one in front of everyone. And all he could do was stare at you dumbfounded as you did the one thing people in this town should have done a long time ago. It was either Belle- and she wasn't an option since she wanted no part in this- or you. And you weren't going to settle for half.

Uh-Oh! Here we go, your comic went viral

I didn't really mean it but rumours spiral

Wow, Anne Y/N, way to make the country hate you

Mate, what was I meant to do?

And now, everyone thinks you're the bitch. You can see it in their eyes. But you don't care. All you do is huff and turn on your heel to head home. You don't even notice the plotting look in the hunters eyes.

A few days later, Gaston actually comes knocking on your door, dressed in his finest, and asking you to marry him? Is he serious? Glancing out your window, you see nearly the whole town gathered in your front lawn with a band, cake, and pure white decor, complete with some crying bridesmaids.

... Yup. He was serious. Looks like that talking to you gave him really made him finally realize he couldn't have Belle. But you didn't expect to just get married straight away! Though you have to admit, the idea does have some merit. Maybe this town will stop talking about you if they know you two are officially an item.

That and, as much as he is a jackass, he's still one of the best lays you've ever had. You'd never have a dull night again.

So, ignoring the feeling in your gut that this was a bad idea, you go put on your best dress, lock arms with Gaston, and mentally prepare yourself for the wedding day you didn't think you'd have.

Henry's Gaston's out every night on the town

Just sleeping around, like what the hell?

If that's how it's gonna be, maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three

Just to make him jell!

Oh, you knew there was something going on between Gaston and those blonde triplets!

In hindsight, you probably should have realized that marrying Gaston would have a load of problems for yourself... But that doesn't make you any less pissed. Especially since he's still harassing Belle! In front of you! And when confronted, all he claims is that, obviously, why wouldn't he want the two most lovely girls in town?

Obviously, that leaves Belle disgusted even more, and you infuriated. You didn't give up your freedom just for him to keep acting like he owned you and your new friend. You were far too angry to even consider that maybe flirting with some of the guys at the bar in front of your husband wasn't the greatest idea on your part... What!? What were you meant to do!?

And, of course, that just leads to you being tossed into your own home and getting into your first lovers quarrel.

Henry finds out and he goes mental

He screams and shouts, like so judgemental

You damned witch! Mate, just shut up!

I wouldn't be such a bi- if you could get it up

Oh yeah. You said that. And he was not happy. Not. At. All.

The man you call your husband screams and shouts, his temper tantrum able to make the whole house shake from his sheer size alone. You don't back down though, and when he realizes this, all he does is storm back out. No doubt to his tavern. You don't follow though, you choose to just stay at home and take your own frustrations out on one of your pillows.

By the next morning though, the whole village has heard Gaston's exaggerated side of the story. And of course, everyone blames you. After all, Gaston was the hero! How could you betray his trust like this?? No one even considers the fact- or just doesn't care- that he's just as, if not more, guilty as you.

Great. Your life is ruined. All because you wanted to get a head.

Maleficent - Heart of Stone

(I know there are probably other villains who would fit this one better, but Mal is one of my favorites and I love the idea of her getting mad at herself for falling in love so I'm treating myself)

You came my way, and I knew a storm could come too. You'd lift me high, or let me fall

But I took your hand, promised I'd withstand any blaze you blew my way

'Cause something inside, it solidified, and I knew I'd always stay

You were a... Strange mortal, definitely. You were kind and curious, yes, but you had always been drawn to the darker side of the world. It made you the outcast in your village, but you didn't care. It wasn't like you were casting hexes on others, you were just enjoying your interests.

And when you ran into the mistress of all evil herself while on a trek in the forest, you weren't afraid of her. Even when she tried to scare you off, all you did was keep your cool and smile, too intrigued to go away.

You didn't know it then, but it reminded her of herself, centuries ago, before she became the dark fairy she is today. That was enough to let her spare you and just walk the other way instead, her irritation coming back when you just followed her, continuing to ask questions and just being a general nuisance. It got to the point that she just chose to teleport back to her castle, leaving you behind.

You can build me up, you can tear me down

You can try but I'm unbreakable

You can do your best, but I'll stand the test

You'll find that I'm unshakeable

This continued for so long. You were determined to get through Maleficient and her hard shell, and would constantly look for her in the forest. No matter what, you kept strong-willed, even when she would try to test your patience with her trickery and wickedness.

Fortunately, somehow, you won her heart. Even Maleficient was confused and honestly quite furious that you managed to break through her. Her. She wasn't a sweet little fairy who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved, and she could very easily break you... But she didn't.

When the fire's burnt, when the wind has blown

When the water's dried, you'll still find stone

My heart of stone

It wasn't long before Maleficent 'brought' you from your village to live with her. It'd be more accurate to say she whisked you away, but you don't mind. You didn't want to stay in the village anyway.

It was definitely an odd time of adjustment for her. She was used to only having Diablo for company- unless you count her army of goblins and imps- and she was perfectly fine with that. But now, she has to find a way to actually take care of her little mortal.

No matter what though, Maleficient kept you 'hidden away' so to speak. You weren't imprisoned, obviously, but she just preferred to keep her life with you separate from the rest. At least for now, while she was still getting the hang of this 'love' thing.

You were fine with that, even if you did want to know more about her magic and schemes. You're just happy to have won over your dark beloved. It was like a dream come true for you; living in a magical place, with the most beautiful and dangerous woman by your side... Though you had to admit, there was one more wish you had.

You say we're perfect, a perfect family

You hold us close, for the world to see

And when I say you're the only one I've ever loved, I mean those words truthfully

Eventually, when you told her you wanted a child, she was skeptical. She's already pushing herself with a lover, but a family? Especially a mortal family who will just pass while she lives on? Absolutely not. Not in her castle. You may be her lover, but she's still the queen of this castle.

But, she does love you. You're the only person she actually wants to see happy. It took a long time, but you were able to get her to see the appeal of starting a family. After all, if you can sneak your way into this fairy's heart, anything is possible.

But you are absolutely not letting her kidnap a child and replacing it with a changeling. You want kids, but you didn't want to rip them away from their own family. She knows a thing or two about magic. Surely there's some way you two could have your own child? Maleficent at first scoffed at the notion; she's never heard of anything like that, and she's an expert in this sort of thing. But fine, she'll investigate, just so she can rub it in your face how right she is.

Her smug aura practically vanishes, and is replaced with your own, when she finds out that yes! There is indeed a spell that allows you two to have a baby together magically... "Alright, Y/N, wipe that smile off of your face, we have a youngling to create. Come on."

Soon I'll have to go

I'll never see him grow

But I hope my son will know he'll never be alone

She insisted though that you would be the child's vessel until it was ready to be born. Or, to translate, you'll be the one pregnant. What? Did you really expect her to take this job?

You are nervous about it, though, especially as the due date nears. You just can't shake this terrible feeling. Though Maleficient always quells your worries. She's a master of her craft, no spell has yet to have failed on her. Yes, this is new to her too, but what could go wrong? All you are doing is carrying a magical child inside you for nine or so months.

All the times she's brushed your worries aside, all the times she's dismissed your 'visions', Maleficent comes to regret all of it, when on the day of your child's birth, your heart beat comes to a stop.

'Cause like a river runs dry and leaves it's scars behind

I'll be by your side

'Cause my love is set in stone

She did all she could, using whatever enchantment she knew to bring your soul back to your body as your son wailed in a basket for one of his mothers. Even she was almost worked into tears when she finally realized she had lost you for good. And she had no one to blame but herself.

Maleficent though, doesn't mourn for long. She has a new life to care for, the last bit of you there is in this world. There's no time for her heart to crumble. And so, the dark fairy takes on the task of raising your child alone.

Jafar - Get Down

(For the sake of argument, let's just say Jafar won in the universe of this imagine)

Sittin' here all alone, on a throne

In a palace that I happen to own

When the sorcerer finally took his rightful place on the throne, his first act of business was to get rid of Jasmine and the former sultan permanently. To ensure no one could take away what he worked so hard to gain. And he kept Razoul, along with some new, more competent soldiers, to ensure that street rat wouldn't be able to take one step into the palace if he somehow survived the Arctic.

In every sense of the word, Jafar had won. And now, he could get started on shaping Agrabah as he deemed fit. But, first things first, he needed a wife. And he knew exactly who had in mind.

Bring me some pheasant keep it on the bone

Fill my goblet up to the brim

Sippin' on mead and I spill it on my dress with the gold lace trim

Not very prim and proper, can't make me stop

Y/N. The queen of a kingdom far away. Jafar had seen your portrait years ago during his travels, and had heard so much about you. You were considered the most beautiful in your land, and had riches and power beyond anyones wildest imagination. And of course, the ambitious sorcerer wanted you for himself.

He had tried to convince the Sultan to form an alliance with you, claiming it was for the benefit of the whole kingdom, but really, it was just for his own lustful gain. But that old fool decided his toys were more important, and the former vizier had been left fantazing about the queen, swearing to himself once he was the ruler, Y/N would be his first act of buisness.

Well, no better time then the present, yes?

I wanna go hunting, any takers?

I'm not fake 'cause I've got acres and acres, paid for with my own riches

Where my hounds at? Release the bitches

Woof

And so, you received a letter, detailing an invitation to Agrabah from the new Sultan, making it clear he was looking for his own Sultana and wanted you. You yourself had heard of the kingdom, but never held enough interest to venture out there, especially when you heard of the childish king. But now, this Jafar is enough to pique your interest. How he somehow gained the throne without having to marry or be of royal blood was definitely impressive. Not to mention he wasn't exactly bad looking in the picture he sent.

After some discussion with your royal advisor, you decided to at least check it out. If you chose to marry him, great. If not, at least you get a good vacation. So you sent a reply to him, promising to be there within a weeks time.

Head back for a round of croquet, yeah

'Cause I'm a player

And tomorrow, I'll hit replay

Jafar had been quite pleased. It seems like everything was falling in place for him. Of course, he made sure to prepare for your arrival, making sure the servants set up your lavish chambers perfectly and even going out of his way to buy ingredients for dishes from your own kingdom. He was going to make sure you at least agreed to an alliance.

Neither of you once thought that this could have been too good to be true. And you could tell he thought this exactly when he first set eyes on you in the flesh.

You, you said that I tricked ya

'Cause I, I didn't look like my profile picture?

Too, too bad I don't agree, so I'm gonna hang it up for everyone to see

And you can't stop me 'cause

"... Quite humorous. Now, where is the real Queen?" Was the very first words that came out of his mouth when he saw you. And your servants already knew where this was going.

Oh no he did not just say that to you!

Even though you kept your royal air and dignity about you, the cold look in your eyes told everyone that you were not taking this insult lightly. You were gifted with a silver tongue yourself; you always knew how to cut into someone deep, and you were not afraid of a man who could shoot sparks from his silly little staff.

I'm the queen of the castle!

Get down, you dirty rascal!

Of course, Jafar didn't like what you said about him, even if it was the truth. The servants of both royals were terrified as they watched them practically try to murder the other with their glares, hoping not to get caught in the crossfire.

However, he too knew how to keep his cool when it was necessary. He's had to have done it for years under his former employment. The last thing he needed right now was to start a war all because little Y/N lost her own cool. Yes, he could easily win it with his powers, but his main objective was to form a treaty with you, not lose what could benefit his own kingdom greatly.

So, he manages to stop himself from summoning his powers. Though he makes it clear that marriage was no longer on the table at this point. You traveled this far though, so he'll generously let you and your entourage stay to refresh yourselves, and he'll still discuss business with you, but there would be no pleasure.

which, at this rate, was perfectly fine with you.

Let me explain

I'm a Wienerschnitzel, not an English flower

No one tells me I need a rich man

Doin' my thing in my palace in Richmond!

It's not that you were insecure. You knew you were beautiful. You knew that you were the one in charge. It was how this man invited you into his home and had the gall to say that to you. This man who had to claw his way to the throne felt like he had the right to insult you? You weren't going to let that go.

Fortunately, for him, though, he was able to convince you to at least consider an allegiance. You didn't like his attitude at all, but the idea did seem to have potential. Besides, you didn't want to risk some deranged magician trying to take over your kingdom.

So, you agreed to be his ally, and then set off for home after fine tuning the agreement, making sure he wouldn't be able to take advantage of any loopholes.

You were still an unmarried woman by the end of the day, but hey, you like it that way anyway.

Evil Queen Grimhilda - All You Wanna Do

I think we can all agree, I'm the ten amongst these threes

And ever since I was a child, I made the boys go wild

I was young, it's true, but even then I knew

The only thing you wanna do is...

You always seemed to lure in the wrong kind of attention. You were 'gifted' with beauty, as your own mother put it, and as such, you had countless suitors over the years.

Though none of them treated you right. None of them cared for the woman behind the pretty face. They all seemed to think they had a right to your body, whether they'd try to force themselves on you or try to buy your affections.

And, unfortunately, you had to learn it the hard way.

Made me a lady in waiting

Hurled me and my family up in the world

Gave me duties in court, and he she swears it's true, that without me, he she doesn't know what he'd she'd do

It was shortly after the Kings mysterious passing did you meet the new Queen. She was looking for a new handmaid, and your family insisted you apply, despite the fact that it was clear that Grimhilda wasn't exactly pure of heart.

Miraculously, she doesn't get envious of your beauty and chooses to hire you instead of the countless other women who applied. She kept you close by her side, you helped her in every way she needed and then some. You didn't question her, unlike the majority of her court, and you did exactly as she asked you to.

It was mostly because you didn't want to put a target on your back, but still.

You were a hard worker, and it definitely didn't hurt that you were quite beautiful- not as beautiful as her, obviously, and that just made it even better to the queen.

You say I'm what you need

All you want, we both agree

This is the place for me

I'm finally where I'm meant to be

Even though you had been reluctant at first, you now knew you made the right choice. Yes, you had questioned your morality many times, but this was the best place you could be; on the good graces of the evil Queen, and on your own. You didn't have to worry about anyone trying to hurt you here.

Then he she starts saying all this stuff

He She cares so much, he she calls me love

He She says we have this connection

I guess it's not so different...

Though of course, tranquility can't last forever. You realized this when Grimhilda had called you to her throne room and gave you an offer you couldn't really refuse.

She truly was a snake. She knew how to lure you in with the promises of love and care. Something you imagine she must have done with the previous king.

Still though, even if you didn't want her, she wanted you. And when the evil Queen says it's you, than it's you.

You two were eloped shortly after. No wedding, though. Two women marrying would have caused an uproar. So in the publics eye, you were still her handmaid. No one knew of the way the Queen held you close at night, or how you would get down on your knees for her, "As any spouse of mine should."

With Henry Hilda, it isn't easy

His her temper's short, and his her mates are sleazy

Except for this one courtier

He's a really nice guy, just so sincere

It didn't take long though for this relationship to wear you out. Grimhilda was still as cold as ice, and the people she conducts business with aren't exactly the most upstanding of people. Just because you became her consort, didn't mean that she was going to suddenly become selfless and compassionate. You knew it, but... Still.

You did find one friend, though. The Queen's own huntsman, in fact. You had seen him before, you don't quite know how long he's been under Grimhilda's 'employment'. But one evening, while your wife was in her laboratory, you decided to make conversation with him. And that was the beginning of your first genuine friendship.

This guy finally

Is what I want, the friend I need

Just mates, no chemistry, I get him and he gets me

And there's nothing more to it

He just cares so much, he's devoted

You two practically became two peas in a pod. Whenever you two weren't carrying out her evil deeds or entertaining her, you both could be found together, chatting away about your previous and current lives in the halls or gardens. He even taught you how to use a dagger so you could defend yourself if need be.

Now, this is what you needed. All you ever wanted was just a nice friend you could lean on. You didn't need a marriage, you didn't need a lover, you just needed someone who truly cared.

But then... When the two of you are alone...

He says we have a connection...

No... No no no no! Why!? He knew you were married, it didn't matter if it was ultimately loveless! He knew your troubles with men before! Why would he even say this!?

I thought this time was different!

Why did I think he'd be different?

But it's never, ever different!

The huntsman seemed to realize his mistake when he saw the tears fill your eyes. He tries to comfort you, even when you tried pushing you away. Even after what he said, the two of you were still friends, and he reassures you he would go if you really wanted him to.

You should have ordered him to leave. You should have stormed away. You should have done anything else. But when you saw the true care in his eyes, and how he was willing to set his own desires aside for you, all you could do is break down and cry in his arms. Both because you still had your friend, and the fact that regardless of the choice you'd make, your relationship was going to change forever.

How tragic it was that the Queen just so happened to walk down that very hall, as you and the huntsman embraced each other. Now you got to witness first hand her wrath and jealousy as she ordered her guards to drag you two away.

Playtime's over...

Playtime's over!

You and the Huntsman were executed. Grimhilda was never one to show mercy. The Huntsman was simply beheaded, but you had your heart carved out of your chest and given to the Queen. The only way she could have your heart to herself.

Hades - I don't need Your Love

(I'll admit, i had a lot of trouble with this one. I'm still not sure of how this came out, but I didn't know how else to write this)

You know I love you, boy, in every single way

Though I love you, boy, I'll miss you every day

You were a brilliant woman of your time. You were a writer, a philosopher, bringing light to the great myths of the very gods. Of course, many were true, as shown with the mortal son of Zeus, but others were exaggerated or simply not true. You treasured the life you had built for yourself, and you couldn't even imagine exchanging it for anything more or less.

Anyone like you would have grabbed the gods' attention. You had caused an uproar in Olympus, so much so that even the Underworld heard about you, especially one God in particular.

It wasn't long before Hades had heard about you and decided to look into this new mortal. Usually, it didn't take much to make the other gods angry, so he wasn't expecting much.

And even though this feels so right

I'm holding back the tears tonight

Though he found himself both intrigued and entertained by you. Finally, someone who didn't just blindly worship the other gods! And you didn't even feel afraid of incurring the wrath of the gods. You were also pretty cute, that was a plus.

And then, that's when he gets an idea. It wasn't exactly a secret he was mocked on Olympus for many things, one of them was that he still didn't have a spouse. He mostly ignored them about that particular jab. How could he take offense from people whose relationships were already fifty shades of fucked? Still though, he can already see the smug looks on their faces being wiped away after seeing him stride in the room with the very mortal who made the others question them.

Honestly, he just wanted them to shut up about his personal life, and he thought this was the best way to accomplish that. Especially after the whole 'unleashing the titans' fiasco, this was another, more subtle, way to get back at them.

That I don't need your love, no, no

I don't need your love, no, no

You were certainly surprised to see the God of death at your door. At first, you thought maybe he was offended by what you had been writing, but he surprised you even more when he... Asked you out? He even worded it like a business deal, too, and flirting with you a bit, though you're not sure if he was being genuine or just trying to charm you into accepting his deal.

Honestly, you wanted to decline. You weren't stupid, you could tell this was just Hades wanting to annoy the other gods. Everyone knew well enough by now that you didn't want to get on a deities bad side, and you were already pushing your luck. You knew this, he had to know this too, and you were certain if you accepted just this one date, your whole life wouldn't be the same.

You wanted to reject him. You really did... Until he sweetened the deal. He would ensure your safety and even help you with your writing - apparently, he genuinely liked your literature - if you did this for him.

How could you deny that? Safety to continue doing what you love, in exchange for being part of some scheme to tick the rest of the gods off?

So I sent that letter to my love

Got married to the king

Became the one who survived

So, writing away your old life, you agree to Hades' deal.

And, as you predicted, one date became a second date. And then a third... And a fourth... It got to the point that you would expect to see Hades at least once a week.

Obviously, this attracted all kinds of attention. Both from your neighbors and the other gods. You're pretty certain that all those thunderstorms conveniently over your house weren't exactly coincidence. And your fellow mortals would try asking you about you and your, supposed, lover. What was he like? Did he bribe or kidnap you? Were you carrying his child yet? That question you supposed you couldn't blame them considering Zeus' reputation. And, the one you heard most of all, when would you two get married?

You were no longer you. You were now known as the death gods lover. As any artist would know, no matter what kind of art they pursued, fading away was possibly one of the worst fates you could have.

There's was more to you than just being a deity's consort. There was more to you than your newfound status. Why was it that people recognized it before, but now they seemed to have forgotten it?

I've told you about my life; the final wife

But why should that story be the one I have to sing about?

That's not my story!

There's so much more!

Still though, you didn't throw yourself a pity party and let it stop you from creating and bringing the same light you always had before. You were now more determined than ever to reclaim the voice you had lost. And now that you had all the resources and security you needed thanks to Hades, your works were now better than ever.

It actually impressed him, even though he knew he had inadvertently caused this for you. Hades didn't think you were trying to outshine him at all, he was just reminded why he became attracted to you initially.

You were once more surprised that he became your biggest supporter outside of your initial agreement. He would brag about you to all the other gods, but not for his own gain, because he was proud of you. And if someone saw you and just referred to you as 'his consort' while he was around, Hades would immediately step in with, "Oh yeah, she's an absolute ball of fire, but have you read her scriptures? Trust me, Athena wishes she could be as good as her."

And you had started to actually genuinely like Hades. He had a pretty good sense of humor, was actually easy to get along with outside of his temper, and you could see the appeal in the guy. You had even spoken up against the other gods whenever you'd hear them talking about your date. That didn't win you any points with Olympus, but it's not like you cared what they thought of you anyway.

You didn't see it coming, but your relationship had started to turn more into just a show. You two had started to genuinely care about each other. It may not have been true love just yet, but you two were definitely good friends. You supported each other, even if you didn't entirely agree with everything he did, and that was all you two needed.

During your last visit in the underworld, when you were passing the hall while being escorted by Pain and Panic, you could have sworn you heard the three fates looking into yours and Hades' lives together... What was that they said about him proposing in a few years?

59 notes · View notes

parvulous-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Patrick McKenna // SFW alphabet

Summary: A sfw A-Z for Camerlengo Patrick McKenna

Warnings: Breaking of church vows (kinda, if you think about it)

Notes: Please be aware that this is purely off of the movie where McKenna features, this is in no way related to how he is portrayed in the book (mostly because I haven’t read it yet). Also I don’t know how the Roman Catholic church entirely operates- as although I do study it, I have never experienced any of it first hand, so there may be inaccuracies, for which I apologise. My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Publicly, Patrick can’t be affectionate. He’ll give you a look every so often, just so you still know he cares for you, even though he can’t exactly show it. He makes up for it in private though- making food once a week, some beverages, and lots of time curled up together on the sofa. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even read to you.

B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

As a friend, he would be the voice of reason, a moral compass for those who had little or none (whether they listened to him or not though, he couldn’t control).

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Patrick does quite like cuddles. Curling up to cuddle wherever is probably his favourite way to cuddle- having you both embrace one another as close as you can fills him with such a sense of joy that nothing else can replicate.

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?)

Despite his vows to the Roman Catholic church, and the Vatican, he would love to settle down with you. Hands down, he’d probably do it in a heartbeat. He’s a pretty good cook, and often does some cleaning around the home.

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He would be very sympathetic about it- he understands it hurts, but if he’s leaving you there is most likely a good reason for it; most likely linking to his profession and position in the Vatican.

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?)

Despite his vows of celibacy and chastity, this man is still a follower of Roman Catholicism. His commitment to a person would be unwavering, everlasting. But it would have to come after his devotion to the Vatican itself.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

He’s very gentle. He may be firm when implementing his beliefs and his opinions, but he is still gentle when he needs to be. He can be a little extreme, but for the most part, he knows how to take care of you, physically and emotionally.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

Similar to cuddles, Patrick really likes hugs as well. A quick form of affection, that works well when out in public. He’ll often hug you from the side, as it’s the easiest one to have whilst on the move or staying mostly out of sight.

I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?)

It may take him a little while. He wants to be absolutely sure that love is what he’s feeling before he admits it to anyone but himself, even you.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Jealousy is a trait that McKenna both has and despises. He can become incredibly jealous sometimes, but has become very good at hiding it. Sometimes even you don’t realise that that is what he’s feeling. When it gets really bad though, he’ll come to stand beside you- usually unable to touch you, since this usually happens whilst he is working- and speaks with the offender who made him jealous until they get scared off.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Patrick likes to kiss you on your cheek or ear when just out of sight in public. Kisses on the lips are usually fairly chaste, getting heated very rarely- and these were always in private, and always would be unless you get married. He likes to be kissed on the jaw and the crook of his neck- though you found this out through trial and error, rather than him telling you.

L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

Patrick is actually pretty good around kids- he is often a good influence for them. Sometimes he can get a little too preachy, but you usually let him know of that and he’ll eventually reel himself back in a little bit.

M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?)

Oftentimes McKenna is long gone by the time you wake up- though occasionally he’ll wake you to give you a forehead kiss before he leaves.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

There’s a routine for the evenings with Patrick- Grace and dinner, reading/watching a film, evening prayer, bed. There’s not overly much wiggle room in that, he likes routines.

O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?)

If you’re having a quiet conversation during a film, he’ll occasionally slip in a piece of information about him, but you already know a lot from what he told you when he first met you- besides his extreme beliefs, he doesn’t keep many secrets.

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He is incredibly patient. Almost eerily so at times. It takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to get him visibly angered. Such as a lot of pressure over time, or a heavy interrogation.

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)

A lot. Occasionally he’ll forget something though- in which case he’ll profusely apologise and promise to remember it again in future.

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

There’s no one particular memory. There’s many- going to cafes together, walking along the canals hand in hand, hell even showing you around the Vatican. Anything that makes you smile, really.

S - Security (How protective are they?)

Quite protective, even if he doesn’t often outwardly show it. The Roman Catholic church is a big organisation, one full of corruption even if they deny it. He knows that if any of them knew of your relationship, it could put you in danger, so he makes sure to inform you of how to keep safe, no matter the situation.

T - Try (How much effort do they put in?)

He puts about as much effort in as any normal man does. He tries, but it’s not always particularly special.

U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?)

He preaches a lot. This man has to quote something from scripture every day, for whatever reason. It can get rather frustrating at times.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He has to look presentable, but since vanity goes against the virtues he’s been raised to follow, he does his best not to be as vain as some people can be.

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He would miss you a lot- you’ve become so ingrained into his daily life that it’s hard to imagine a day without you now.

X - Xtra (Random HC)

He’ll sometimes read you a bible story or two to get you to sleep if you’ve had a bad day- he has a very smooth and calming reading voice.

Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?)

He doesn’t like it when people try to disprove his beliefs, or argue against them. It gets him very agitated, and will deter him from said person.

Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

Literally just a normal sleep pattern, there’s nothing else or unusual to say about it.

#patrick mckenna #patrick mckenna x reader #patrick mckenna headcanon #sfw alphabet #ewan mcgregor x reader #Ewan McGregor #angels and demons

104 notes · View notes

polishksiezniczka · 4 years ago

Text

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Fluff ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Il camerlengo deserves more love ❤

Notes: These take place in an AU where the Cardinal Strauss and Commander Richter are guilty of the attacks on the Vatican. 2K words.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

There are so many things about you Patrick adores: your beautiful, soft smile; the curiosity and warmth your eyes convey; the feminine lilt of your voice. But most of all, he loves you for your heart. The kindness you show towards others makes you an angel in his eyes.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why or why not?)

Despite his vocation to the priesthood, Patrick would love nothing more than to start a family with you. He views the love you share as a gift from God, not something that should be disgraced or vilified. The arbitrary man-made rules of the Church which prevent him from realizing this longing—your own little family—frustrate him to no end.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

With the utmost care and gentleness. He holds you against him, reverently stroking your hair, face, and body with his warm fingers. He especially loves to admire the suppleness of you, softly kissing each and every glorious inch he can reach. While these moments are few, they are precious to him.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Because your relationship with Patrick is technically “forbidden,” you can’t go on dates in the normal sense. When he can, Patrick will use the secret passage between the Vatican and Castel Sant’ Angelo to discretely travel to the outside world in order to visit you. Because you really can’t be seen alone with him, you instead spend time with Patrick in your apartment, often cooking dinner, talking, and just enjoying each other’s company. Even if you can’t confess your love to the world yet, all he desires is to spend every moment he can with you.

E = Everything [“You are my ____________.” (e.g. my life, my world)]

“You are my heart.”

“You are my treasure.”

“You are my life’s greatest blessing. You are a gift from God.”

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

When he imagined his life without you. The pain he felt even entertaining the notion was too much for him to bear. He knew he needed to tell you before it was too late.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

This is one of the main reasons you fell in love with Patrick—he is truly the gentlest soul you have ever met. He treats you as if you were a priceless relic, practically worshipping the ground you walk on and swearing to defend you from any harm. Not that he won’t stand up for what he believes—he is a fierce defender of his faith and possesses the ability to inspire millions with his commanding oratory. But the look of love in his eyes when you catch him watching you makes your heart flutter rapidly in your chest like a schoolgirl’s.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Secretly and with all the affection he can possibly give. He especially loves to brush his thumb across the back of your hand, squeeze them lightly, or bring them to his lips when they are intertwined. When you are alone together, he always wants to maintain this type of intimate contact.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When you first met Patrick, the always-charming young priest was left speechless. Not only was he enamored of your beauty, he was mesmerized by your intellect and eloquence. At first, he chided himself for such foolish and boy-like thoughts—he was a priest, after all! But after slowly getting to know you, he realized how much you embodied perfection to him: your poise, the uncommon kindness you showed to all those you met, your deep devotion to your Catholic faith. And you couldn’t help but feel the same strong attraction to him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous much?)

Patrick is not the jealous type—he would never have any reason to be. Your love is built on trust and truthfulness, and he alone holds the key to your heart.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You were the first to kiss Patrick. You had gone to him for guidance after suffering a deeply personal anguish. His words were so gentle and reassuring, you couldn’t help but softly kiss his cheek in gratitude as tears slipped silently from your eyes. You were too numb to even feel ashamed, let alone prepare for Patrick’s response: taking your hand and kissing it lovingly, a gesture meant to assure you your feelings were reciprocated.

Because of Patrick’s profession and his constant presence in the public eye, you can’t be together as often as you’d like. But when you are, you nearly die and go to heaven from his mouth’s attentions alone. Patrick’s kisses are gentle, reverent, and full of love. He is never aggressive or rough; instead, he worships you with his lips, laying them everywhere like a starving man put before a feast.

L = Love (Who says I love you first?)

Patrick did. He was running to the helicopter to dispose of the antimatter chamber, willing to sacrifice his life for the safety of the faithful gathered in the Square and his beloved St. Peter’s. As he prepared to take off, he saw you standing on the steps at the entrance to the basilica, tears in your eyes. He silently mouthed to you, “I love you. Pray for me.” You were distraught but could do nothing but nod as tears clouded your vision and watch as he ascended from the plaza into the night sky.

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

One night you begged Patrick to go for a walk around the city together, like a normal couple would. You couldn’t brush away the romantic childhood notions of strolling through Rome with your beloved. He finally acquiesced to your pleas (your doe eyes and breathy implorations being of great assistance to you) and the two of you slipped quietly out into the dusky night. You frolicked at the Trevi Fountain, gazed at the enormity of the Pantheon, and shared a sweet treat from the gelateria while nestled on a bridge overlooking the Tiber River. Although the ancient city was beautiful, the sight beside him was what truly took his breath away.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Priests are sworn to a life of poverty, so Patrick does not shower you with expensive presents (nor can he afford to). But none of that matters to you because all you care about is Patrick and your love for him. Of his few earthly possessions, Patrick gifted you his late mother’s golden crucifix necklace inlaid with emerald, despite your attempts to dissuade him. He gave you the look of utmost adoration and smiled. “Angelo mio, you are the only one worthy of wearing it.” You wear the necklace every day as a secret declaration of your love for Patrick.

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

There are two: light pink (it is your favorite color and the color of your favorite flower, the gardenia) and white. White symbolizes purity and peace, as it is the color of the angels, and to Patrick, you are his angel on Earth.

P = Pet Names (What pet names do they use?)

Angelo mio (“my angel”); cuore mio (“my heart”); mi amore (my love); “beloved”; “dearest”; “my treasure” ; “sweetheart.”

Q = Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

His rosary, made of olive wood grown on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. It was a gift from His Holiness.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Ideally, he would spend the day curled up together on the sofa with you, reading, talking, or just basking in the other’s presence. Two mugs of tea and a plate of delectable pastries you had baked for him would sit on the table but would remain uneaten because of the sustenance you provide to each other. When he cannot be with you, he enjoys spending time in his study, doing research, reading Scripture, or writing his weekly homily.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Prayer—he always turns to God and the Saints for guidance.

Naturally, being by your side and in close physical contact immediately quells even his deepest fears. He relishes listening to your soft, sweet voice, lulling him into a sense of profound comfort and eventually, sleep.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Patrick is an intellectual at heart and loved the time he spent in seminary. He is incredibly well-versed in a variety of topics, including literature, history, science, music, art, philosophy, and theology. You could listen to him for hours and never lose interest.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

You. Patrick can be himself around you, let his guard down. He knows that he can tell you anything. Sometimes when he has a lot on his mind (responsibilities, the welfare of his Church, your future together), he simply gazes at you lovingly and observes the subtle movements you make when you’re engrossed in a task like cooking, reading, or playing the piano.

When he’s anxious and you are not around, prayer provides him a deep sense of comfort. He also relishes in your sweet scent—a small vial of your perfume you gifted him.

V = Vaunt (How do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Vanity is a sin! 😉

But in secret, he loves showing off his Latin skills to you! You find it incredibly sensual when he speaks to you in that ancient tongue.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

On a dreamy spring night, Patrick led you up to a secret balcony near the base of St. Peter’s massive dome—a hidden observatory shown to him by His Holiness when he was a young boy. The view is breathtaking; you can see the whole city bathed in golden light, the inky blue darkness above cut by the silver caresses of the moon. You turn to Patrick in complete awe and could hardly articulate how beautiful the view was. He pulls you close to him and whispers that he would be happy if he could never see this view again if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you. You turned to him, overwhelmed with love, your breath hitching at the significance of his words. He then knelt down before you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, of all the blessings God has bestowed upon me, none is more precious than you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew that we were meant to be together, in this place and time.” His eyes were sincere and insistent, his tone earnest as he held your hands tighter and continued: “My mind told me that we could not be together, that my vows of celibacy and chastity forbid this. But my heart tells me that if a love so pure as ours exists, is it not a gift from God, meant to be treasured? And though I may not deserve to understand, all I wish to know and feel is my love for you.” His eyes shone softly with tears.

“Y/N, my love, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and spend the rest of your life with me? Will you be my wife?”

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Patrick loves the ancient hymns from the early days of the Church, their melodies hauntingly beautiful yet powerful. “Ave Maria” also has a special place in his heart after he heard you singing it softly to yourself one evening while preparing dinner.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Every day! Patrick is so torn between the duties of his priesthood and his intense longing to spend the rest of his life as your husband. He prays to God often about this personal conflict, but finally decides to propose to you before Him alone, indifferent to anyone else’s judgement.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Because Patrick is so easygoing and affectionate, he would do really well with dogs.

Tag: @lemairepstuff @seraferna

#ewan mcgregor #patrick mckenna #camerlengo #angels and demons #dan brown #il camerlengo #carlo ventresca #ewanfuckinmcgregor #forgive me father for i have sinned

89 notes · View notes