#deep examination of Scripture

[thinkingonscripture]

Spiritual Growth Through Meditation on Scripture

The Lord instructed Joshua, saying, “This book of the law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it; for then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have success” (Josh 1:8). This command involves a deep, reflective engagement with Scripture, allowing its truths to shape one’s…

[yanderenightmare]

Nanami Kento

♡ TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, inexperienced reader, virginity loss, size-difference, abuse of power, lies and manipulation, captive darling, age-gap

♡ FEM reader

You started coming to his home office once a week. 

Unsure of it all, in the beginning, you were so nervous. He looked so strict – sitting opposite you in his dark brown leather chair with such a tight expression on his face. 

But you came around to like him soon enough. 

He was a nice man. Serious but tender with you – putting out freshly baked muffins on the coffee table and always giving you a warm cup of chamomile with vanilla and honey before getting started. 

And he was knowledgeable too – had that mature air about him that seemed so polished and proficient you couldn’t help but hang off every word like it was scripture.

When he told you to stop wearing bras because they hinder natural breast growth, you listened, and when he said that keeping your pussy hairless was important for hygienic purposes, you believed him because you trusted him.

He diagnosed you with virgin anxiety and has been so patient with you ever since, helping you overcome it.

Professional enough to practice with you. Sticking a gloved finger inside your pretty pussy when you’re propped on his examination bed, testing out your tightness with words reassuring you that you just need to wait and allow your body to provide the wetness – smiling at you kindly, that way old men do, more with his eyes than his lips, when you’re weeping with slick enough to accommodate all three of his lengthy fingers inside you – squeezing on him so tight.

You gush, shaking your head while spluttering apologies when you cum around them, but he just rubs your clit slowly, with veteran steadiness – telling you it's only natural and healthy for a young woman like you to be so sensitive under a man's touch – that it’s nothing to be ashamed or scared of – on the contrary, it’s something you should feel very proud of.

He’s also kind enough to give you extra sessions – at least three times a week at his home office – sometimes even breaking his own rules, treating you to a house call, coming to your apartment for a nice little chat. 

He even assigns you daily exercises for you to do on your own – though he encourages you to call him so he can guide you through it. Instructing you to wet your fingers in your mouth first before you touch yourself down there.

He listens to your little moans filtered through the phone – bated breaths and whimpers as you get yourself all bothered and needy for more. 

He tells you to turn on the camera so he can see if you’re doing it right, and you listen – placing the phone in view of your tiny fingers struggling to reach and stuff your cute cunt.

He praises you on your good job – his own camera off, for obvious reasons – he can't have you seeing his raging shaft just yet, or how he jerks it to the sight of your tight little cunt. A deep furrow between his brows and his jaw locked tight, resolute in his plans of coaxing you into giving him your first time. He groans just thinking about it, splurting his load into his fist, listening to you moan for him. “This feels funny, Nanami-san~ Is this right? ~ Please, Nanami-san, teach me~” 

He's been coveting your virginity for months now – grooming you – making you pliant and gullible, and soon, all his patience and hard work would pay off. 

It’s cute that you don’t know it yet… but your pretty little pussy is all his.

He expertly works it into your sessions as an exercise. One he promises you’ll benefit from. Telling you your condition can be blamed on never having studied a real grown man’s cock – that, because it’s such a foreign thing to you, you end up fearing it.

He reminds you how this is a safe space – tells you that all he cares about is your wellbeing – as he sets himself next to you on the couch, his thick thigh next to yours, while buckling up his belt and zipping himself free – taking his fat erection out for you to lay your innocent eyes on.

“Here it is.” He clears his throat with a rusty sigh, sounding relieved when his manhood springs free, standing proud and fat.

His veins flex along his arm beneath dark blonde hair as he strokes the length lazily – up and down slowly. Making old noises – heavy sighs and hums – dragging the foreskin back and revealing its plush mushroomed head.

You take it in with doe eyes.

“Don’t be shy. Tell me your thoughts.”

You swallow thickly at the assignment, blinking out of your stare. Shocked and embarrassed, though curious, but also a little grossed out – you’re not sure what feeling you end up with. “Uhm- It’s very… big.”

He chuckles low at that. “Come on, you can do better. What else?” He urges you, offering another deep but light-hearted laugh. “You can be honest. It’s a little funny looking, huh?”

“Yeah-” You giggle lightly in return, though you’re still somewhat uneasy – sitting as though you plan on leaving, but staying nonetheless, at the edge of your seat – eyes glued to the chubby member, studying the curve of its spine and the veins forking their way up to its head.

“Feel up to touching it?” He asks, and your eyes snap to his – lined with crow’s feet and something so trustworthy. 

But still, you promptly shake your head in embarrassment. “Oh- no, thank you, Nanami-san-” But he’s already taken your smaller hand in his, pulling you back by guiding it to his lap. 

“No, no, little one- this is what we've been training for. You won’t get better if you don’t try.” He scolds you, voice both dismissive and reassuring all at once. “Here- feel it.” 

He wraps your tiny fingers around the stout shaft and overlaps your hand with his, helping you find the rhythm – stroking it nice and slow. 

“There you go, just like that. Good.”

You hesitate at first. Giving your lip a soft bite while thinking about his previous words.

Was he right? Are you scared because you've never looked at or touched a real penis before?

You don't want to be a virgin forever – it's embarrassing as an adult – it makes you still feel like such a silly little girl.

So... if Dr. Nanami says that this will help you overcome your fears, then you suppose...

You'll do it.

You gulp and follow his movement – up and down the large and lengthy pole.

It's so warm – pulsing in your grip, twitching at your soft touch. Skin so thin, almost rubbery, holding something much tougher than you’d imagined.

In your hand, it’s a lot bigger as well. You can’t even reach your fingers around the thickness to touch your thumb.

“All of this goes inside me?” You ask, under your breath – swallowing thickly while he leads your dainty hand downward into the hair around his base, then up to the wet tip, which pilled and trickled with white pearls getting caught between your fingers – warm and sticky.

“That’s right, every inch.” He answers – voice relaxed – pleased by how well you were doing. “Does that scare you?”

You bite your lip and rub your thighs together. “A little…”

“But it makes you feel a little warm, too, hm?” He suggests. “Makes your mouth wet? And also, that soft place between your legs?”

You make a nervous sound, digging your nails into your knee, where you let your other hand rest awkwardly. 

He hums again with a soft chuckle. “Don’t be embarrassed, little one. It’s a good thing.” He ensures, encouragingly squeezing your hand underneath his while lifting the other up to your face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear – before sliding it across the back of your neck. “Let's see you be brave and give it a taste.”

You hesitate again – this time a little more decidedly. “I don’t think I can-” But Dr. Nanami is strong, keeping your neck in a pinch as he guides you down into a bow.

“It’s alright, I’m here to help you. Just open your mouth, and I’ll show you how.” He insists soothingly. Spreading his thighs out further while laying your head down on his lap, hips moving languidly when brushing his shaft up between your lips. 

It’s so big, so hot, pumping with warmth where you kiss it on the side on a particularly fat and throbbing vein.

He lifts you up slightly and angles the tip into your mouth, creating a cute bulge in your cheek where he rests his hand to keep you down when you flinch at the salty tang getting caught by your saliva. The taste quickly coats your entire tongue.

“Mmh- that’s a big girl~ getting her first mouthful of cock.” Dr. Nanami sighs with a groan, dropping his head back against the couch cushions while pushing up into the pouch of your cheek in lazy thrusts. It strains – makes you feel like it might poke through and make a hole.

He lets it settle there for a moment, enjoying the wet warmth and the unsure movements of your sweet tongue – not knowing where to go with all the space occupied by his meat.

But then he tangles both hands in your hair, gathering it all into a neat ponytail. And, lifting your skull up directly above, he sends his cock down your guzzle even when you whine out in meek protest.

“Breathe through your nose and try your best to swallow it down as far as your throat allows.” He instructs, keeping a tight-knit grip around your hair in one fist whilst the other hand slides down to pet your cheek in soothing circles.

Forcing it down your tight little amateur throat even when your jaw feels like it’s unlocking. 

“Good girl.” He sighed once he’d wedged himself in all the way until your lips kissed the pubes at his base.

Your smaller hands dent the muscle of his thigh, offering a meager push. Mewing out a “Mrph-” while you gag around the trunk. 

He holds you there, roosting inside your throat for another satisfying moment before easing up, pulling you up by your pony.

You gasp, halfway choked on your spit – but he's not much concerned.

“Stand up- let me feel.” He rushes out in a stiff order, ignoring how you cough and slurp for air – forcing you up to stand between his knees. 

His firm hands plant themselves on your hips, being the only sturdy thing balancing you as you wobble – unsteady when he tugs your skirt and panties down until they drop into a pool around your ankles.

He then pulls you onto his lap – seating you with your back leaning against his chest with his cock gliding up through your inner thighs, rubbing against your bare cunt.

You’re still light-headed, bracing yourself against his broad chest while he keeps one thick arm strong around your waist – holding you snug. The other jerks his manhood, tapping it against your clit in soft spit-wet slaps.

“Let’s see how it feels inside you.” He grunts against your ear, resting his chin-stubbled jaw in the dip between your neck and shoulder – looking to where he has your thighs spread over his own.

“N-no, Nanami-san-” You manage to squeak out softly with a voice both teary and hoarse from choking. “Please- I’m not ready-”

But he doesn’t listen – and any struggle you try to inflict ends up aimless where you’re barred beneath his arm – strict and tough with brawn like it’s a seatbelt on a rollercoaster ride.

“I think you're more than ready for it. Trust me.” He’s growling now – so menacingly, you don’t dare speak against it. Only watching the glossy veiny beast with bleary eyes while he rubs through your pussylips with the fat plush bulge topping it – catching your clit and making you gasp before zoning down to your pretty little twitchy hole.

You whine when it’s forced to stretch open as he nudges himself inside the pill-sized opening despite your effort to climb away from it.

“It hurts, Nanami-san!” You cry, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

“Your virgin pussy will understand it soon. Don’t worry.” He dismisses – continuing to ease his thickness into the tautness, knowing you must be feeling close to tearing apart once his head’s finally swallowed in with a pop, followed by his inches bullying through you one by one, each feeling like a painful mile. 

You cry out, nearly screaming, “Please, Nanami-san! Take it out- it’s too much-” worming on his lap, trying to wiggle it out.

But he has you under reigns, and your struggling only results in him sinking inside you faster. Now, so deep you feel him nuzzle against your womb – and still it keeps sleaving itself until it curves against your walls and pudges out in a cute belly bulge.

“We've trained for this. You need to allow your body the time it takes to get comfortable.” He coos, sounding less on edge now that you’ve taken him inside your comfort.

His chest rumbles with satisfaction against your back as he sits there relaxed, bouncing you slackly but not too much just yet.

He keeps you seated but lifts his other arm to tug off your tiny T-shirt. 

“Here, let's take this off. It’ll help.” He excuses, and you’re a little too desperate for the relief to refuse – listening to the kindness in his voice and lifting your arms in hope, letting him fling it off.

Only in socks now. You throw your head back and whine when he twists one of your pretty nipples into a sore nub – chest arching from the contact. The arm holding you in place slides a hand between your thighs and starts circling your cute button, flicking over it with a gritty fingerprint.

The friction makes your belly bloom all sorts of colors, making you lock and quiver around that big thing he has nestled inside you, throbbing against your womb as he only gently bounces you on his lap – stretching your little pussy out generously as it suckles him so very sweetly – so very wet, drooling on his lap –squeezing him oh-so-snug.

You feel sticky after a while of twisting and refusing. Feeling so full and feverish. Neck wet from tongue and lips – so wet, spit is running slow trails down your chest, cool in the chilly open air of his home office.

You still think you want to stop, but you’re not as tense anymore – resting prettily against his chest. Moaning for each swirl he does over your budding clit – having quaked with pleasure a whole of three times already, gummy walls rippling all along his shaft as you softly loll your hips on him in return.

There’s a pool of your slick between the two of you – having drooled form where it seeps around the tight edges of where he has you stuffed air-tight, running down his balls to gloss the leather seat beneath. 

He takes it as a sign that you’re ready for the real thing. 

It’s almost unfair – how easily your smaller body is held in his hands. Maneuvered so effortlessly as he lifts your thighs up against your chest, then spreads them wide. 

He hooks your knees on his elbows and braids his fingers behind your neck. It's an awkward position, but you’re completely locked in it. Unable to do a thing except wail with moans once he starts pistoning his fat man-cock up inside you. 

It’s way worse when he stands up – bouncing you in the air – holding you folded against his chest, your legs dangling over his arms, jumping as he pounds his meat inside you, stuffing your cunt full on every deep thrust – stabbing your poor stomach until you’re screaming and squirting from the pressure.

Feeling you soak him is the last straw – so tight while spraying a hot mess.

He sits down again, lifting you off his cock before fanning your clit with four fingers – making you gush out every last drop, screaming while raining on his cock until you’ve strangled it out one final time – left shaking.

You’re then ushered down to the floor, on your knees – the top of your head leveled with Dr. Nanamis's big hand, keeping your face forward as he faps his sturdy thickness at your mouth.

“Open your mouth wide.” He orders, his teeth grit while his bulbing cockhead kisses your lips. 

You listen when he gives your little head a shake – rolling your tongue out while dropping your jaw for him.

“That’s a good girl-” He praises, placing his tip on the wet bed of your soft pink tongue, giving his cock only a few more tugs before his balls clenched hard and sent a big fat load through his cock out into your pretty little open mouth.

He groans heavily, almost angrily, squeezing every spurt out – some coming out so heavy it spills up your face and down your chin – but mostly getting caught where you have your lips parted to receive it.

“Good girl.” He repeats, taking in the sight of your painted face – so cute covered in his cum. 

He smiles.

“Now swallow it all down. And don’t waste a single drop. It's rich in vitamins young girls like you need to become proper ladies.”

You don’t want to close your mouth – you want to spit all of it out and rinse the rest with toothpaste and water. But the hand petting your head is so heavy, you don’t dare. So you swallow. Sniffling at the yucky taste once it sits warm in your stomach, still so sticky and gross on your tongue.

But Dr. Nanami seems pleased.

“Moving forward, I think you’ll benefit from closer examination.” He says. “I've made arrangements to have you institutionalized here, where I can keep a closer eye on you and offer more frequent assistance. You still have a long way to go before you’re well, little one. I’m not close to seeing the results I need in order to release you from my care.”

You’re still too shocked by the former events to look confused, but the sick feeling in your gut just keeps growing.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep training, and soon I’ll have you turned into a proper little cock-pet.”

You want to run, but after what you’re body had just been put through, aching and screaming at you like it was your fault – you knew you wouldn’t be able to do much more than crawl, and something about the still fat cock resting its weight against Dr. Nanamis thigh told you he wasn’t done with you just yet.

“Give my cock some time to rest, and we’ll try it again later.” He confirmed your fears, still with his hand stroking your head like a pet at his feet. “Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me how your sweet pussy liked losing its virginity- and how this little face enjoyed getting its first-ever taste of cock and cum, hm?”

♡ P2 ♡ NANAMI KENTO masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[eddiesxangel]

Your Touch is my Scripture | Emperor Geta

Cw: ancient times (not 100% historically accurate pls don’t come for me) canon adjacent, darker themes, slavery, angst, smut, fluff, f!concubine!reader, reader is referred to as whore, oral, unprotected p in v (it’s like 211 AD duh)

5.5k words

The sun was bright, high in the sky, telling you it was about mid-day. Your robes were expensive, worth more than anything you have ever worn in the past. But you were at the Palace now. No longer would you need to endure tattered, rough, earth-coloured cloth. Now you get to enjoy the riches of luxurious silks of reds and purples and fine linens etched in gold embroidery.

A gold headpiece was pinned to your hair, curled and oiled for you. You got to be bathed in luxurious perfumes. Your face was pained and your lips reddened, your eyes lined with the dark kajal eyeliner you would not have recognized yourself if you had access to a mirror.

Yesterday, you were all but a present girl selling yourself on the street. How you fell into this situation was beyond your comprehension.

While you were scrounging for food, you spotted the royal carriage but paid no mind. That was until a guard came up to you and instructed you to come with him.

You were terrified, had they been here to arrest you? To sentence you for being a street rat?

You were looking around confused but see that from the carriage the emperors were gazing at you- Caracalla with a smug look on his face and Geta with a look of hunger.

You shiver at the memory, the way his deep brown eyes held your attention, his controlled gaze only broke once the carriage started moving once again.

You were instructed that you’ve been summoned by the Emperor, they didn’t specify which one but you had a hunch as that haunting look in his eyes never swayed.

You were brought to a council room, where many men of status, including the Emperors, sat in a semi-circle… what for, you didn’t know… but you would soon find out.

You waited until the Emperors were finished their conversation and you were led to them by the same soldier who plucked you off the street yesterday.

“Do not speak unless spoken to” he had instructed you a few moments ago…

“Ah yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” Geta couldn’t help but look you up and down.

To him, you had been perfect. He stopped the carriage immediately upon the very sight of you. He needed to have you, whore or not he would make you his.

When your eyes met, your breath hitched, stuck in your throat. He was beautiful, alluring, and yet- terrifying. You could feel the automatic pull to be near him, do whatever he wished. That is what you were here for, to be his newest toy.

You felt like you didn't have much of a choice when it was explained to you why you had been summoned to the place.

“You will serve his majesty however he pleases. You will have a roof over your head and food in your belly.” The soldier explained.

You hadn’t been whoring for long, but anything would be better than going hungry in the streets. You longed for food, your hunger took over any rational thinking and you agreed without taking more time to think about what you signed up for.

You had been shown the servant quarters, that’s where you met the other girls. There were five of them in the room when you entered, all equally beautiful. How you fell into this group was a mystery.

“Your Majesties” you curtsy, bowing your head. You’re very aware of the little coverage, the white sheer fabric, draped across your chest, leaving little to the imagination.

You’re the only woman in the room that you can see and the men were very aware of your presence, but you were for the Emperors alone.

“Even her voice is like honey��� Caracalla muses.

“Yes, brother, a marvel, isn’t she?” Geta’s eyes sparkled as he examined you.

“What do we call you?”

“Whatever would please you, your Majesty.” You knew that was the correct answer when a knowing smirk spread across Caracalla’s face. A shriek of a laugh fills the room and others join to appease the rulers. Their power was clear. They commanded the room.

“Come, sit”

You were led to a throne and your eyes grew wide, no way he could expect you to sit there.

You look to Emperor Geta and he sits down and pats his thigh, beckoning you to sit down. With a sigh of relief but still a bit of unease seeing as though you just met him, you turn to place your bottom on his thigh.

The day was filled with excitement as two gladiators had been the source of entertainment. The shock and awe of the fight had Geta grabbing at you at each brutal hit. The way his fingers dug into your soft skin, how his grip tightened on your thigh had you squirming on the inside. Your calm and cool demeanour was all an act. He pulled you in closer; you draped your arm around his shoulder as you became more comfortable. His touch had been electric, his hand ran up your thigh if he went any higher, he would feel your arousal, praying it hadn't already seeped through your linens.

“Remarkable!” Geta praised the young warrior. His enthusiasm was contagious, as was his eccentric brothers. It was electrifying to be near that kind of energy for once. This new world was overwhelming but you liked being close to Geta.

After his conversation, he turns back to you. “Come,” he says with a smile, guiding you up the winding staircase to what you assume to be his quarters.

Once entered, he can no longer contain himself; he finds himself reaching his hands to your hips, pulling you in. He meant to offer you wine, but he couldn’t resist. You smelled of lilies and berries; he needed to taste you.

His kiss was rough but needy. He tasted of wine; you could have gotten drunk off of his tongue alone.

His hands slid down to your ass, and he gripped and massaged it, making you moan, forgetting this wasn't supposed to be about you.

“You’re going to be my good little pet aren’t you.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Get on your knees,” He pinched your bottom. “But first, discard your robes.”

The look in his red-rimmed eyes was sinister, as you obeyed the look deepened. Nothing could keep you from disobeying him, his command over you was all too powerful. This monster of a man was your commander, your Lord, and your life source.

“Perfect, utterly perfect.” He praised you as you knelt for him like a god.

His cock was hard already, and you hadn’t even touched him yet. You could feel through his robes he was thick, probably the biggest you have yet in encounter. His robes were discarded, and before you stood the most powerful man in the world, who ruled and owned so much land it was too much to comprehend.

He was greedy, so greedy and all you wanted was to give him everything.

You lean in and kiss the tip of his leaking cock.

“Yes, worship me” he grips your hair tightly.

You take more of him in your mouth and swallow down your gag. More and more you fit him down your throat until you can’t breathe.

A low curse leaves the Emperor’s mouth as you pull back.

“You’re a dirty little whore aren’t you”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He scolds.

“Yes, my Lord”

“Better. Now get on the bed”

He smacks your ass as you pass him and it makes you squeak out a giggle.

The sound of your laugh startles Geta, it makes his heart flutter and he isn’t sure what to make of it. He shoves the feeling down, deep down. Ignoring it.

“How do you want me, my Lord?” You stand before him, in front of the lush bed.

“Worship me” he looks down upon your naked body, nothing about him in this moment was human. It was all pure primal need that flowed through his veins.

“Lay down for me, my Lord.” You smirk and he listens.

You crawl over him, your hands roaming his alabaster skin as you glide your slick core over his reddened hard cock. Over and over you glide on him until you decide to let him slide into you with ease. You were right. Your pussy has never been stretched out this much. Luckily the hours of teasing was enough to have him stretch you out with little pain.

Geta loved the way your jaw went slack when he stretched you out. His face said it all as you looks down at him. A smile spreads across both of your faces when you start to move.

“Fuck, yes” he sighs.

Never had a woman made him feel this good this early on. He’d been inside of you a whole of 10 seconds and he’s already ready to blow his load.

“Sorceress” he curses you, accuses, you. Your cunt was otherworldly- magical.

You could feel the familiar tension building, forgotten was your duty to the man beneath you.

“I’m going to cum” you whisper under your breath as your hips rock on His Majesty.

It almost slipped past the Emperor’s attention, but you say it once more, only a little bit louder this time, as your pussy clenched.

“Stop!” Geta demands. However, you’re too lost in the feeling that you don’t hear the command.

“Stop at once!” The emperor pushes you off of him. He doesn’t understand what you just did, he’s never had that feeling while in a woman. It scared him, he was bewitched by you. You were a temptress, an enchantress, a Cantatrix.

“Your majesty, did I do something wrong?” You were more terrified than confused. The other girls had warned you about his moods.

“Get out!” The veins in his neck bulged out, his face reddened with rage.

You don’t argue, you don’t say another word. You pick your garment off the floor, put it on and silently walk towards the door trying to hold your head high.

“And send in Fauna instead” he spat.

You turn around quickly, not wanting to the the hurt slip from your eyes. You don’t look at him.

“Yes, my Lord.” You curtsy with your head down. Shame filled you and you tried not to sob as you ran down the empty halls.

Once you reached your quarters you shook Fauna awake and begrudgingly told her she was up. She looked at you confused but quickly patted down her long thick black curls and made her way to him.

You didn’t understand where or what went wrong. You thought you had a connection, chemistry. Your mind was clouded, he had felt so good beneath you, and you couldn’t understand why he pushed you off. He hadn’t said anything- he was enjoying himself, you were enjoying yourself. So where had you gone wrong?

Weeks passed and Geta hadn’t sent for you, nor Caracalla. You were getting worried you’d be kicked out into the street. Why house and feed a whore when she’s of no use to you? You had little to no money. All you had left was the gold ring that belonged to your father, and you were not about to give that up if you got kicked out into the streets.

Your name being called startled you, and you were lost in thought, braiding Aurelia’s hair. You stand up immediately.

“Ouch!” You hear her and giggle a sorry before one of the emperor’s guards escorts you.

Thrill filled your veins at first, but then dread quickly followed. Worry and anxiety seeped through your veins as you made your way down the corridors.

The walk down the torch-lit hallway is quiet, only the echoes of your barefoot steps can be heard bouncing off the walls.

The guard pounds on the door three times you flinch at how loud it is.

A muffled “Enter” is said aloud, you look to the guard he gives you a taut nod before he turns to get into position for the evening.

With a quick sigh, you hesitantly open the door.

“Disrobe.” He didn’t bother to look at you.

He was standing in the corner of the bed chamber by his wall of scrolls. Floor-to-ceiling rows upon rows of papyrus filled with stories you could only imagine. What you would give to be taught how to read?

Clearly what is written is more interesting to him than to you. You try not to feel offended as his eyes don’t stray from the page. You need to show him you’re worth keeping. That you are worth wanting.

You cannot help yourself but want to please him. You will get past this silly little obsession you’ve created, and get over how much you want him to notice you. You’re a whore. Nothing more will ever come from this.

You obey his instructions, and your body shivers as the cool breeze of the midnight air kisses your skin. Your nipples can’t help but perk, but you’re not sure if that is due to the sudden loss of warmth or the way His Majesty is looking at you. Those eyes, his deep cinnamon eyes gaze into you like he is the lion and you are his prey.

“Come here, Sorceress.”

Your heart races and you slowly step towards the Emperor.

“You seem nervous” his voice is calm, yet assertive.

“I don’t want to fail you this time, my Lord” You bow your head and your long wavy hair falls with it, covering most of your body,

“What you said last time” he clears his throat, “you are wrong.”

“Apologies, my Lord, I know not which you are addressing?” You look back up.

“Women do not orgasm. They cannot, it is not in their nature. Where you heard of these lies is unbeknownst to me. You were giving the wrong information.” He said matter of factly.

Your stomach swirled as his eyes didn’t break contact with yours. That is why you were thrown out like a piece of trash? Why for weeks you’ve been trying to see what it was you did?! Because you said you were going to cum?

You didn’t know what to do. Your internal battle was clear on your face as you debated if picking this battle was worth it. You could show him a new world or he could kick you out immediately, once again.

“Spit it out then.”

“I-I am sorry, my Lord. It will not happen again. My intent was not to deceive you.” You lower your hard once more like a scolded puppy, knowing that the one perk of this gig will never be fulfilled.

“Good girl, now get on the bed.”

The night went as you expected. You were brought to your knees at first, then you were upon his lap, just like last time. Only this time you kept your mouth shut.

It was hard, so hard to not cum for this man. How could he not understand women also could orgasm? Had none of the other girls? And if not, why has none of the other girls shown him? You don’t understand, but you will not bring it up. You want to be good for him. You need to stay here in the palace.

Your eyes burned with tears as you tried to get him off before you accidentally did. You had to before you cried out in pleasure…the pleasure you so desperately want for him to know that he is giving to you- that he will not let you have. You want to cry out how he is the one who makes you feel this good. How it is his cock that hit all of the right places. You fight the urge to play with yourself as you ride your Emperor.

“Come for me, my Lord.” You test the waters.

This seems to be okay, he smiles at you for the first time since the first day you met.

His beautiful face relaxed as he released himself within you, pinning you to him as the euphoria washes over his whole body. You’re dismissed immediately after, as expected.

Day and night, he calls for you, and only you. All hours, most hours you are with him. Weeks passed, and the other girls were becoming snippy with you, to which you didn’t know why- it’s not like they would be getting off with him as they did with each other. They all served Caracalla between them. They got a break; they got to share.

However, it was you and him, alone for hours. You don’t know how you would feel if he didn’t ask for you. Hurt and jealous, most likely. You were bonded to him. Wanting to please him but not being able to please yourself or what you wanted, for him to please you, it was torture, night after night, going to him. Pleasing him and knowing your silly feelings would never be reciprocated. He showed no compassion, he would fuck you either in your cunt or your ass. Depending on his mood sometimes both, yet, you can’t shake this desire you feel when you think about him. When you’re accompanying him in the day when you lay with him at night. Some days, he would have you in his bed for hours before he got up and went to work, others he would have your draped around him while holding council.

You were consumed, borderline obsessed, but how could you not be when he was your only source of company?

As expected, you had been summoned after supper. When you arrived, you sensed that something was different.

Geta didn’t say a word as you greeted him-he didn’t command you to strip, but you know the routine so you disrobe and approach his Majesty.

His back is turned to you but this doesn’t stop you from leaning up to kiss his neck. To touch him, to praise him.

"How will you have me tonight my Lord?"

His stiff body didn’t move, he didn’t make a sound until you made your way to face him and you gasped. Pulling away you could see the look on his face was pure anger. This is what the girls had warned you about all those months ago.

“I must apologize.”

That was not what you had expected. You didn’t say a word as you let him explain.

“I was having a chat with Macrinus, and he informed me that you were right all along. But I still don’t believe you…or him.”

“My lord, I do not follow?” You whisper, scared he will lash out.

“Come.”

You take a step towards him, not wanting to upset him.

“No, I mean, cum for me.”

Your breath hitched, eyes going wide. This was not what you had expected.

“My, Lord.” you gasp.

“Show me, teach me.” His voice became gentle, you would say almost venerable if you hadn’t known any better. “Please.”

“Y-yes, your Majesty.” You take his hand and lead him to the bed.

You lay down in front of him, and he leans down to kiss you. You have kissed him before but something about this time feels different, like the feeling is being reciprocated. His body slowly mimics the routine that you do to him night after night. His makes his way down your neck, you’re scared to make a noise for him. But the feeling of his plump lips has you slithering out of your skin to react.

“Is it not good?” He pops up, genuinely concerned.

“Yes my Lord, it’s very good” you reassured him.

“But- but you’re not reacting.”

“I didn’t think-“

“No!” He bellowed but realized his mistake when you flinched away from him.

“Please do,” he said much softer…like he wanted to do a good job for you.

You silently nod your head and he continues from where he left off.

His lips glide over your burning skin, a soft moan leaves your lips and you feel him smile like he’s won.

Sex for Geta is always about him, that is how it should be. That was how it was taught to him. ‘The man’s pleasure is how life is created,’ he remembers his father telling him. Nothing was ever mentioned about how the woman was to feel during it. So night after night, years of silent fucking and only thinking about himself, this new territory was exciting.

When you moaned it set off something in Geta’s head, he wanted more. Needed more.

He brought his mouth to your perked nipple, and you arched yourself into his touch. The feeling of his tongue rolling around your sensitive bud sent waves through your body down to your dripping core.

The smallest of touches from him made your head spin as you had hardly gotten them in the past. Having the Emperor touch you like this had you reeling for his touch.

A long drawn-out moan left your lips as his teeth scrapped at your perked breast.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” He murmured into your hot skin.

“Yes. Very much” you sigh.

“Good…now-um- what should I do?” His venerability, slipping.

“Touch me” you take his hand to your clit. “Here”

“My god, you’re soaked.”

“Yes”

“Just form that little-?”

“Please” you begged. No more questions, you needed him to pleasure you.

You move his fingers on your clit in circular motions until he gets the tempo. Your hips are moving with his hands, telling him he’s doing a good job.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes- now add a finger or two, inside”

Geta slipped his fingers inside but didn’t stop circling your sensitive clit.

You were so close, he could sense it, he felt your walls contract against his fingers like they did the first time you two fucked, but this time he didn’t pull away.

“I can feel you, Sorceress.”

“I’m so close, don’t stop, you’re perfect”

Geta’s heart fluttered at your praises, only this time he doesn’t swallow down the feeling.

“I will never stop pleasing you, that’s all I want, is to please you.”

How could this be? He is the emperor, you are nothing, a concubine who’s tricked this being into falling for you. He tricked you along the way as well.

“Geta” you let slip, and he doesn’t even reprimand you because in that moment is the most beautiful sight beneath him.

His hands were like magic, how dare he be holding this back from you this whole time.

Your orgasm rippled through you. Weeks of denied pleasure bursting from your womb making your body shake and your throat cry out.

Nothing has ever felt so good.

A soft giggle passes as you come down from your high and Geta gazes at you in shock and wonder.

“My little entrance. Cantatrix” he leans down to observe your pussy. It was wetter than he thought possible and the smell, he was addicted. He can’t help himself but bury his nose in you for more. He lets his eyes roll back with a grotesque moan. He needs to taste you.

“Yes, I’m yours. Only yours.”

You both knew what that meant. The countless nights of sex, the endless glances when he holds council, the silent communication, the hours he kept you in his chambers. The way he hates to be away from you, how he needs you by his side through the day even if he knows he can’t have you he wants you.

You both know that he can’t bring himself to ask for another girl.

It’s all understood by your words and that terrifies him, but the urge to please you is so much greater than his fear.

“I must have you” he kisses your pussy deep and passionately. His tongue explored your sopping cunt, the taste of you will be burned onto his tongue.

You can’t help but roll your hips into Geta’s tongue. Grinding on his face, your hands run through is hair, tuggin the roots. A soft moan leaves your lips and Geta can’t get enough of you.

“Take me” you plead.

Deeper he pushes his tongue into your cunt he can taste your cum coat his tongue. How he had been so wrong for so long. Not knowing the taste of a woman pleasure could be so addicting.

You can’t help pulling his face into your core. His nose brushes your clit over and over as you ride his face.

“Take me, take me” you release your grip and he pulls away. Your slick covers his lips and chin, but he leaves it so your sent is coated on him, his sinister smile shines towards you.

He grabs his thick cock and aligns with you. Never had Geta gone with long without being touch before sex, he had to hold himself back from plunging into you. He knows his size, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

You open your legs wider so he can ease his way into you. Geta watches as his cock ploughs into you. Over and over you chant his name like a prayer. He watches you breast bounce with each thrust, and now he thinks he’s discovered his new favourite position with you. Out of all the months you’ve spent tangled up together, never have you been on your back for him. Why? He is not sure because his cock is burred so deep.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he thrusts himself into you. The weight of his body on top of your makes you feel that much more connected.

“Tell me, Cantatrix, who you belong to?”

“You, my Lord, only you.”

His hips worked into your cunt with such intention, needing to feel your pussy cum onto him.

Nobody had ever made you feel like this, and nobody else ever would.

“Come for me again!” Geta begs, his voice is so desperate and needy, as he thrusts into you. Your hands are planted on his ass guiding his hips into you as your bodies roll into each other as one. He was your saving grace, your lover, and the unspoken little bit more.

You can’t help but moan with your head thrown back arching your breasts into him. The sweet sounds coming from his lips are what you silently plead for. You feel every finger he places on you. His hands planted themselves upon your hips. Moving your body so effortlessly that he can’t help but beg. He needs to feel you come for him. To know that he’s the only one who can make you feel so much euphoria that he never knew existed before. You were the woman that broke the curse for him, the woman that he rescued in the streets, his collection, his prize. You owe everything to him, and he will take what is his. You are his.

“Cum for me, I demand it. As your Lord, your Emperor. Cum” he grits through his teeth, holding back his pleasure.

Your body can’t take the build-up any longer, you listen to him, and you release all that’s within you. Your second orgasm is just as strong as the first one. His words and his commands are what pushed you over the edge. You will give him everything he wants of you.

The feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice has Geta cuming seconds after you. Never had he thought a pussy could feel more pleasurable, more perfect than yours in that moment.

Geta and you both had been so worn out of the night’s events he didn’t ask you to leave, he offered you some wine and with a bright smile on your face you accepted. You got up to stand, but you were greatly surprised when he insisted he be the one to serve you.

You talked for hours after, about your childhood, how your father was a soldier in the conquest of the empire, and how he had been killed 3 years prior. Your mother tried her best but she fell ill a year ago and it took her quickly thereafter. You had been selling yourself since then.

Geta told you about his life as well. He spoke to you as if you’ve been friends for years. It was as if the veil had fallen between you. No longer was he this intimidating mountain of a man. He was Geta, a young man who has the world at his fingertips, and the responsibility you wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the night wrapped around one another, you never slept better.

You woke before him, you didn’t want to ruin the magic of what last night brought so you snuck out and back to your quarters before he awoke.

Geta was disappointed when he saw you were not sleeping next to him, but he was too busy with the day’s events at the Colosseum to dwell on it any longer. He must get ready.

It was pretty early in the day, the games were supposed to run late, so you had time for yourself for a little while. The girls were still giving you a cold shoulder so you kept to yourself.

Your name is called, “You’re being summoned.”

You know better than to ask questions. You collect yourself and walk the corridors with the guard. You know the route by heart however your stomach turns when you try a left instead of a right.

“May I ask who has called upon me?”

“The Emperor.”

A sigh of relief exists in your lungs. Maybe he is in another room you’ve not been privy to.

The guard leaves you at the door when you knock to enter.

“Come in” The voice was not who you were expecting.

Your eyes widen only for a slight second with shock before you collect yourself.

“Your Majesty” you bow your head to Caracalla.

“My my, you are truly magnificent. No wonder my brother has been hogging you.” He smiled.

“I am flattered, your Majesty.” Your voice shaky.

“Shall we” he motions to the bed and you try and fake your way through this while your stomach is in knots.

“May I ask you one thing before we begin?”

“Of course” he nods his head.

“Why are you back so soon? I imagined the games would still be going on at this time?”

“There was an incident with roge arrows”

“I hope everyone is all right.”

“Not to fret, now I get to spend more time with you.”

“Quite right, your Majesty.” You agree.

And so you began.

Geta was in his room when he heard a knock on the door. He was waiting for the guard to bring you. He needed to blow off some steam from the assassination attempt on him and his brother today.

“Apologies, your Majesty, she was not there.” The soldier regretfully informed.

“What do you mean she was not there? Where is she?”

“With Emperor Caracalla, my Lord.” The guard regretting to be the one to inform his Highness.

“Like hell she is!” Geta bellowed.

The Emperor pushed past his loyal guard and stormed through the corridors of the palace.

You were draped over Caracalla’s lap, bouncing on his cock when the doors swung open with a bang and scared you half to death.

“Get off of him at once!”

You froze, not knowing what to do. The two brothers had equal power over you, so who did you obey?

“Brother!” Geta bellowed out.

“My my brother, what is the matter, I am only enjoying what has yet to be promised to me.” Caracalla sits up into his elbows

“She is mine.” Geta physically pics you up off of his brother and tosses you to the side so hard you can’t find your footing.

“Brother, what has gotten into you? You act as if she is your betrothed.”

“I- I …” Geta had no answer as to why you made him act the way you did. Only that he feels everything for you but is not sure how to control these feelings deep within.

“I think I understand bother… but you and I both know that can never happen.”

“You speak of buffoonery.”

“But is it? Otherwise, why would you interrupt us the first time she is taken from you?” Caracalla was no fool, and he knew his brother better than anyone else. “I will not touch her again if that is what you desire, brother.”

“It is,” Geta growled.

“Very well, I shall call upon Julietta instead.” He shrugged.

Geta turned to you finally, and you hoped he would take you to his chambers.

“Come.” He was curt, and you followed silently.

He was still seething by the time you reached his quarters, but it wasn’t until you were in utter privacy he began his scolding.

“How dare you lie with him!”

“My, Lord-“

“That’s right! I am your Lord. I am your master and you will only serve me!” His face redden.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“What is it you wish for me to profess, my Lord?”

“You left me this morning. You didn’t even leave a note.”

“I couldn’t,” you said shamefully.

“Oh right, you’re just some uneducated present girl I plucked off the streets.” he scoffs.

“You’re right!” you scream, and Geta is taken aback. Never have you spoken to him with such power. “That is what I am! I don’t know what more you want from me?! I have given you everything! All of the parts of me! My wounds, my pain, my suffering, my love, my affection, my ass, my womb!” You cradle the small bump.

How had he not seen? Hint noticed? Had he not understood you have been with him every night and not been through your courses yet? You’ve been here for months, and not once have you bled.

Geta looks down to where your hands are pressed against your stomach and back up into your eyes.

“Is it true?” Instantly his demeanour flipped. It only takes him three large strides to face you to place his hand atop yours.

“My cycle has yet to come since I have been here.”

You watched as Geta did the math in his head until a look of shock then glee spread across his face.

“How far along?” he cradles you in his arms.

“Three or four months,” you suspect.

“Remarkable” he whispers. “utterly remarkable.” He takes you into a lustful kiss. “Now you are a part of me forever.”

“Is that what you desire?” You fight back the tears.

“It is, my Cantatrix. I have yet to find the words, but you are my light in this dark heart of mine.”

“Geta…” you test the waters.

“Only once I have heard you sing my name, and it is more beautiful than the last” He picks you up and carries you to the bed.

“I…”

“Tell me.” His brows furrow with worry.

“I think I love you.” You peer up at him through your lashes.

Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest it is beating so fast that it must not be good for the baby.

You’re a fool to admit such emotions. You want to take it back; you must take it back your thoughts are cut off when Geta’s lips meet yours.

He might not be able to say it out loud. However, this kiss tells you everything. You’re his everything.

If things were different, he knows he would make you his Empress, he yearns to have you rule by his side, but you can give him the next best thing.

A child. His first child, whom he will cherish and adore, even if they will be of the lower class, he does not care.

“Tell me you are mine,” Geta hums into your skin, his hands groping at every inch of you.

“I am yours, my Lord.”

“Geta” He sighs into the kiss. “I am your, Geta.”

“My, Geta?”

“Yes, Cantatrix, your Geta.”

Tag list: @3rd-conchord @everandforeveryours @minamoomoo @gothicloverdream @hippiegoth97

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@hellfire--cult @strangerstilinski @floredaqueen @loserboysandlithium @lesservillain @hellfirenacht

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[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Suppressants

Alpha!Joel Miller X Omega!Afab!Reader

Summary: What do you do when you run out of heat suppressants? You turn to the only person who can possibly get you more medication; even if it means airing your biggest secret. But when Joel doesn’t have what you need you must travel together to meet another dealer. Surely you’ll get more medicine score your heat starts… right?

Warnings: post-apocalyptic world. A/B/O alternative universe, (A/B/O dynamics including: Scenting, Marking, Knotting, Heats) age gap (Reader is 26, Joel is late 40s), reader has been on suppressant most of her life, Joel teaches reader about guns, parental lost (not depicted on page), future smut, he falls first, angst(?), let me know if I missed anything for this part!

A/N: what? Who? Apollyon didn’t disappear off the face of the earth after all?! Yes, hello, I live! I’ve been working on 7 different WIPs and this is the first one I finally finished!!! 🤣 All I can think about is a nice, warm, rough Alpha Joel lately and so here you go!

Part One, Part two vvv (tumbler is acting so weird with this story and not letting me link the parts together!))

https://www.tumblr.com/apollyonsdarksecrets/766831444801863680/the-suppressants-alpha-joel-miller-x

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Staring at the scratched orange bottle in your hands you suck in an uneven breath.

Eleven little green pills rattle in their plastic container, signifying that your time to find help has dwindled down to a little over a week.

You closer your eyes, tapping the bottle against your forehead as you come to your forced conclusion. You know what you have to do, you know that there is no longer another option. No one else to turn to.

It’s the panic seizing your heart that makes it feel impossible to ask.

The secret you harbored, that these little pills kept under control, would have to come to light, if rumors hadn’t already spread. The thought alone makes your empty stomach lurch with nausea.

You hadn’t been neglectful. No. You had tried desperately to find more medication before time ran out. You had gone to six different shady dealers. Six different people who all worked for the same boss.

It was inevitable he would find out one way or the other. Maybe it would be best coming from you.

Steeling yourself, you hold your breath, forcing your brain to focus on the slow burn building in your lungs, until you are no longer trembling. Only then do you let loose a deep sigh.

You go for the brown messenger bag you keep by the door, slinging it on the kitchen counter before stuffing the main pocket with ration cards. the slips of paper crinkle loudly, taunting you even, as if they know they came from selling your furniture. As if they knew you had to stoop so low that all you have to your name is a mattress and torn up blankets.

Next is a thick brick of bakers chocolate, a gift from your elderly neighbor after you had fixed her small space heater. You examine the brick, no expiration or best by date can be found before you shove it into the side pouch. All you can hope for is that it isn’t too far gone.

You frown, the bag still half empty, and you glance around your kitchen to see if there is anything else to be added. To make what you are about to ask for a bit more reasonable. Coming up empty handed you snatch the bag and leave.

Your destination is only two floors above you, and you wonder if he can sense something is coming his way, as you start down the hall, like the crackle of a close storm in the air.

The nauseous feeling grows stronger as you recite the scripture you’ve created in your mind of what to say. But your legs feel as though you’ve been shackled with heavy balls and chains, making your feet drag over the dirty, curling carpet of the hall.

It would be a lie if you said you hadn’t thought of turning tail and hiding. Of slinking off to some hidden, far away place where hopefully none of your problems would attract consequences. The only thing that is stopping you is the thought of your mother.

You can practically see the shame that would have dimmed her blue eyes, the curl of her lip as she realized her daughter was nothing more than a coward.

Less of an Omega and more of a pussy-cat.

You take the stairs up, up, up, slowly; hand gripping the railing so hard your skin is white across your knuckles. You rationalize your predicament in the back of your mind, arguing that you never thought you would live to see the day your medication would run out. That every day you survived after the loss of your mother was a gift, having been so cruelly hindered by your own biology. Having to depend of medication just to survive the only true horror of the world ending. Humans.

Too soon you are ascending the next set of steps, finding yourself standing in front of a faded green door, the imprint of the long missing metal numbers your only indication you are at the right place.

That you are at his door.

The man on the other side is the only reason you had made it thus far, you should feel confident that he will help, that he would accept the truth without faulting you or your mother for never trusting him enough to bare it. But then again…

You stare at the door, your chest tightening, turning your breath into shallow pants. Your limbs suddenly feel numb, the tips of your fingers tingling and it spreads through your palms and up your arms. Trying to swallow against your dry throat you lift your knuckles to the door, forcing your body to go through with the motion. The wood sounds hallow under the weight of your fist, your eyes growing marginally larger, as if you hadn’t full expected to make contact.

Before you can decide to turn and run, or stay rooted to your spot, the choice is made for you.

Joel Miller, with his ever watchful gaze and scowling features, is suddenly towering over you from what feels like the top of the door frame. His deep brown eyes lighten, the pinch between his brow softening as he realizes who’s at his door. Checking the hallway his rigid posture relaxes, leaning his shoulder into the frame. “What brings ya here, darlin’?”

Unexpected tears well up in your eyes at the innocent question, and you’re helpless to stop them as they roll down your cheeks. Before you know it you’re sobbing, throwing your hands into the air with defeat as you try and fail to form words around the constricting sobs.

Joel’s eyes go wide, a chorus of emotions pelting him at your sudden display of emotion. Having known you for so long to be a level headed woman, every warning bell is going off for Joel as he stiffens, reaching for you. “Woah, woah, honey what is the-“

You shake your head, cutting him off as you push past into his apartment. You sling your bag around to your front, fighting with the buckles. Joel shuts the door quickly with another backwards glance, watching bewildered as you struggle with your shaking hands.

“I-I have all of this, and I know-know that this is how people pay you.” You manage to get out, flipping your bag over and dumping the cards onto the table. His eyebrows shoot to his curling hairline, watching the different colored slips spill across the wood, some floating to the floor. You struggle with something else in your bag, yanking and tugging and he steps forward to possibly offer you help when you snap. “God damnit!” Finally ripping the chocolate free, you slam it down, the brick cracking in half audibly. “Chocolate… everyone loves chocolate… I just…” When you turn to look at him with such wild, desperate eyes Joel can only think that the worst has happened. “I need your help.”

Joel steps closer, his hands raised like your some skittish animal ready to dart. “Darlin’. Let’s calm down, you know you ain’t gotta do all of this. Just tell me what it is you need.” And he’s right, you’ve never had to pay him for anything, an agreement made when your mom and Joel worked together all those years ago.

Her knowledge of pharmaceuticals mixed with his innate abilities to smuggle any kind of contraband into the QZ made them the best business partners. Your mother had given him her knowledge willingly as long as he agreed to her terms; use what you can to help those around you, and should anything happen to her, watch over her only daughter.

A fresh wave of pained tears rush forward, letting Joel close the distance between you. He grips your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into your tense muscles as you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold onto any semblance of your dignity. “It’s bad… That… That’s why I brought all of this.”

His heart starts to thunder in his chest, your words spiking his own anxiety. ‘Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be-‘

“I need heat suppressants. I only have eleven left before I run out completely.”

Joel pulls back like you had suddenly slapped him, shock and denial playing across his features. “You… What?” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, running a hand through his greying hair when you flinch. You don’t answer him, instead turning your eyes to the dirt stricken floor below your feet. Joel paces away, turning back to inspect you, his eyes tracing over your smaller figure. He’d known your mother was an Omega, but seeing as you had given off no smell or any signs he chalked it up to you having struck gold and been born a Beta. Never once did it cross his mind that you were on suppressants.

Passing a hand over his face, he turns away, afraid to witness the devastation about to wreck your face. “I don’t have any.”

Your insides lurch, the nausea from earlier hitting you like a punch to the gut, making you grip the back of a kitchen chair. “What?” You squeak, face turning pale as you stare at the side of Joel’s face. “Joel, please… Please I have all of this, there has to be someone! If I go into heat every Alpha in the QZ will be after me like I’m- I’m some kind of prize!” And in a sick, demented way, you’re telling the truth.

Omega numbers were already dropping before the start of the outbreak, causing Alpha’s who couldn’t control their instincts to become possessive, and unruly. That same reason is why there are so few Omegas to count now, most new Alphas becoming rogue with the need to mate, leaving those of us left in constant fear.

“Please,” You whisper brokenly, pressing your hands to your chest. “Everyone said you were who I needed to go to. There has to be something.”

Joel cusses under his breath, turning to look at you and the sight alone is enough to break his heart, hearing you plead is only driving a stake through it. “Look… It’s a bit of a long shot but there is someone I know. It may take me a few days to get in touch with him but if he does have any suppressants it’ll be about a weeks journey.”

“You… You mean leave the QZ?” You haven’t stepped foot outside of these metal walls since you were brought here as a young teenager, nearly 13 years ago. The thought alone is enough to make you want to back out, throw in the towel and hide somewhere where no one can find you. Joel sees your hesitation and splays his hands.

“Yes, but you know I’ve been out there hundreds of times now. I know this route like the back of my hand. If you don’t come with me there will be no way for you to get the medication in time for your…” Joel trails off, a soft rosy color surfacing on his tan cheeks. “You’re gonna have to come with me.”

You glance away, gnawing on your lower lip. With a curt nod you agree, knowing that there isn’t another choice.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It takes two agonizing days before Joel is showing up at your door, telling you he’s heard from a Beta named Mark; the dealer you’ll be meeting with. With Joel is a well worn map, the paper soft under your fingers as Joel shows you exactly the route he and you will be taking to the next town just north of here. You listen to him intensely as you both lean against the kitchen counter, mentally noting everything he tells you as he explains what dangers you could potentially face.

Next is for him to show you what needs to be packed. Joel notices the furniture and other necessities your apartment lacks as he goes through your cupboards and then your clothes, all of it explaining how you had secured so many ration cards.

After Joel is sure you’re packed to the extent that you can carry, he takes the next few hours before night fall to teach you the ends and outs of the pistol you’ll be carrying. He shows you how to dismantle it, then how to build it back, explaining each part in detail as you watch in fascination how nimbly his large hands move over the small parts. Once everything is in place, he spins the unloaded gun around, holding out the handle.

Though you’ve been around enforcers the majority of your life, you knew very little about guns. Your mother had kept you away from the more violent parts of the QZ, her high statues ensuring you had more mundane jobs on your rolls. All of that being said the first thing that comes to mind when you think pistols is the only movie you had in your apartment. You spin around, pointing the barrel at the little white refrigerator with one hand cocked sideways. The same way you’d seen Samuel L. Jackson’s character do in the movie Pulp Fiction.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Joel snaps incredulously, stepping up behind you.

“What? I’ve only seen Pulp Fiction, this is how they do it.” You argue back, dropping your arm to your side as you turn to look up at Joel.

He glares down at you before he steps closer, his chest pressing against your back. “You ain’t no Sam Jackson, woman, now pay attention.” His hand grips your wrist and he guides you to bring the gun back up. You try to pay attention, you truly do, as he instructs you on where to place your palms on the hilt, how your fingers should over lap the others and squeeze; but the heat radiating off of his body makes it nearly impossible. Joel curls around you slightly to get to your level, holding your hands steady between his own, and everywhere that his skin touches yours sends electricity crackling across every nerve.

If he feels even a fraction of what you do, he hides it well as you turn your head to look. You trace the outline of his face, the small sun spots across his Castilian nose, down to the frown of his lips; completely forgetting what he is showing you. His eyes flicker to yours, hardened with concentration , “You never put yer finger on the trigger unless you are absolutely certain yer ready to shoot.” His voice is rough and firm, searching your eyes as you dip your head in agreement. “Good girl. Now, pay attention.”

It’s easier said than done as his hands correct your shoulders, his boot nudging your feet apart to widen your stance, or when he finally steeps away how you can feel his gaze burning into your flesh. You try to hold the gun steady, aiming down the sights at the litter of ABC magnets that adorn your fridge but your arms begin to shake from the weight.

“This feels wrong.”

“You’ll get use to it.” Joel mutters with a shrug as you hand the gun over. “When we get far enough away we’ll find an area where we wont draw too much attention to ourselves, and you can practice.”

You nod, fallowing Joel’s lead as he takes a seat on the once grey carpet, watching how he loads the magazine. You pick at a stray thread on your jeans, watching how his fingers move. After a few moments of silence you shift around. “Thank you… for doing all of this.”

Joel sighs through his nose, looking over at you, trying to peek at your down turned face. “I just wish you’d a come to me sooner.” You rest your cheek on your knee, eyebrows pinching in the center. “You use to come to me for a lot, I know this is well… Different, but it don’t change the fact that it’s just me.”

“It’s just,” You suck in a deep breath, “I’ve been asking around for a few months now… It was just the thought of coming to you directly was… embarrassing? I thought that if you knew I was an Omega you would start to treat me differently… I don’t want that.” You pull the strings free before rolling it into a little ball and flicking it somewhere across the room.

Joel is silent for a moment, rolling a bullet back and forth across his palm. “Sure it ain’t got something to do with me being an Alpha?” The question is weighted, and even though you don’t say anything he can see the blush spreading across your cheeks. He stretches his leg out, nudging your calf with the toe of his boot. “Hey. It’s alright. I understand, I ain’t blind to how things are now. I wont treat you no differently than I have before, darlin’. Swear it.”

You glance up at him, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips as you stare at each other in the dim light of your living room. You nod once.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been extremely unnerving how easily the two of you had slipped from between the metal walls under the blanket of a starless sky. How the patrolling officers didn’t so much as catch a glimpse of your slinking forms as you dashed across the bare field for the crop of trees. Even though your body is riddled with anxiety, you can’t help but marvel at life outside of the city. You can take your first full breath of air, no longer chocking under the overpowering stench of human and trash.

When you both slow in a clearing you are able to look up and see the blue-black sky beginning to change colors as dawn crept in. There’s no haze, no smog, or dust. Just the sun painting the leaves in beautiful shades of golds, purples, and reds. You close your eyes, letting the light warm your face as you take it all in, your shoulders relaxing, your chest no longer feeling taught.

And Joel is there, watching you from a short distance away as your skin is cast in a thousand shades of morning. You’re glowing, and for a brief moment Joel wonders how you would have thrived in a normal world; a better world.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Your voice floats across the space between you, soft so as not to disturb the birds waking. He startles slightly, knowing he’s been caught staring at you and he adverts his eyes to the sky. He’s seen it a million times, his mind and body roughened by the losses he’s endured; the brunt of the world chipping away at him. He knows the dangers, the risks, the things that lurk just out of sight; but… as he stares at the sky, then back to you, the amazement playing across your face…

“Yeah… it sure is.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Now, just squeeze the trigger.”

You suck in a deep breath, arms tensing as you exhale, flinching when you pull the trigger. The pistol kicks back, jarring your joints and sending pain through your wrists. The bullet wizzes well off to the side of the can set on the old wooden post.

Your lips tug down, turning to look at Joel so he can correct where you went wrong. He smiles at the pout you throw his way, pulling away from the tree he has been leaning against.

“Good try. Let’s give it another go. This time keep your wrists locked, you need to hold through the kick. You need to get use to the sound and the feel of it, otherwise you’re gonna flinch and miss each time.”

You follow his instructions, digging your heels into the earth as you aim. The soup can catches the light, almost mocking you as you squeeze the trigger once more and miss.

“It doesn’t feel right.” You complain, switching the safety off and shoving the gun back into the holster on your hip. Joel scoffs and you roll your eyes, lifting your empty hand and pretending to shoot the same way Jules does in the movie.

Joel laughs, scooping his bag and riffle off the ground. “I’m telling you, ya ain’t gonna shoot nothing like that. Will only manage to break your wrist.”

“And what if I do?” You snip, turning to face him your glare unmatched to his own.

“You won’t.” He replies more firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as you step closer, raising your chin in defiance.

“What if I do though? Huh?” You poke his arm, a smile growing as you see the frustration rising in his face.

“Fine. You get something like that and you get to say a one liner. Alright?”

He has to look away as your grin grows to an infectious smile. “Deal.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Over the next several days you both trek through deserted roads and isolated woods, slowly working your way towards the safe house. The trip was filled with things you never imagined, trees growing straight through the road, houses and building over run with ivy vines with critters living amongst them. Even though the cause of it all was so horrendous you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it all.

Though you were moving slower than Joel was use to, he felt like it was worth it, watching how you came to life. You asked every question that popped into your head without hesitation, and he found himself enjoying answering you, recalling how the world used to work. It didn’t occur to him how easy he would find it, opening up to you, talking about this or that. He just knew that he hadn’t found peace like this in a long time with another person.

The sun is peaking high over the tree tops, making it easy to see all around in the sparsely wooded area you have stopped at for lunch. You’re lying on your stomach, head resting on your folded arm as you swish your hand through a small creek, watching how the water swirls around your palm and passes through your fingers. It’s cold and soothing, your thoughts racing away, wondering what it must be like to swim in lakes, or see the ocean for the first time. Feats you’re sure you will never accomplish, but dreams you can have as you close your eyes.

Joel can’t force himself to look away from you, you’ve captivated him completely. He knows he should stop it, kill the thought before it leads him down a path he can’t change. But it’s instinctual, every Omega brings it out in an Alpha. That sense of home. Maybe it was because he’d never spent much time with you over the years, your mother keeping you away.

But the longer Joel was around you, watching, listening, talking. He could feel it, the calmness that even a drug couldn’t smoother, of an Omegas presence…

Coughing slightly he stands from the stump he’s been perched on, “We need to get moving if we want to make it before night fall.” When you turn to look at him over your shoulder he curses wildly in his mind. Your face is soft and your eyes warm as you nod, and he knows he’s doomed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The light, joyful feeling you had through most of your trip abandons you entirely the moment the small town comes into view. A deep sense of wrong and sorrow settles into your bones as you step foot onto the streets, surrounded by haggard, foreboding buildings that remind you of monsters from old story books; ready to spring at any moment.

Riffle in hand, Joel shifts entirely before your eyes. His shoulders are tight, head on a swivel as he surveys the surrounding areas. Each step is thought out three moves ahead, a practice skill you admire as you follow behind, covering him from the back. You carry the pistol just how he has shown you, finger resting away from the trigger, your grip firm on the handle. But you wonder what good it will do should something, or someone, appear.

Fear and anxiety is a sticky concoction making it impossible to do anything but breath as you travel farther into the heart of the city.

A few more desolate streets over and Joel abruptly stops, holding his hand out for you to do the same. Your heart kicks into double time, your gaze frantically shifting from one spot to the next trying to see what he does as he draws his riffle up, looking through the scope.

You wait, body tensing preparing to hear his gun go off, before he lowers it once more. “Alright. Ya see that blue building over there?”

You look down the street and nod at the simple one story home, smaller than the rest of the houses on this street. “Teal, but yes.”

Joel gives you a sideways look that heats your cheeks. “Well the teal house is it. It’s supposed to be locked up, but that doesn’t mean a thing. You will follow me and do exactly as I do, stay quiet, and keep your eyes open. Do I make myself clear?”

Joel holds your stare as you nod, your throat working as you swallow. “Yes, okay.”

Making it across the street on quick feet Joel ascends the steps of the dilapidated white porch as you scan the streets. A moment later Joel is back, a small silver key in hand. He leads you around the house, making sure each window and the back door are firmly locked and boarded over before heading back to the front door. Once standing in a deserted living room Joel instructs you to stay by the door as he ventures deeper into the small house, his foot steps nearly indecipherable as you wait tersely, your fingers shaking around your gun.

You visibly relax when he comes out of the hallway, gun slung over his shoulder. You drop your pack to the floor, sitting down hard beside it with a sigh. “How long do you think it will be until Mark gets here?”

“Mmm… Hard to say, probably in the morning. He’s got a day longer trip than we had. How many pills ya got?” Joel leans against the window seal, squinting through the slats of wood as the sun sets in the horizon.

“Uh, just one more after tonight.” No matter how good natured you’d been there is still anxiety festering in your blood, bespite being at the halfway mark there is still so much that can go wrong from here. “Did he… did he say how much he was bringing?”

“‘Bout three months worth.”

You know that it is probably all he could get his hands on, but the dread of having to do this all over again weighs heavily on your chest.

“What did he ask for them?” You glance at your pack where the ration cards are all shoved into the side pocket, knowing that it can’t nearly be enough.

“I’ve got a gun I don’t use.” Joel comes over, groaning as he sits down next to you, happily taking the water bottle you offer.

“That… That is kind of a lot though… isn’t it?” Guilt eats away at you and Joel can hear it in your voice. He catches your eye, and there’s something in the depths of his that makes a warmth spread through your veins, soothing your worries, if only slightly.

“Ain’t too much for you.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The sounds of birds echo through the empty living room with the first break of dawn, the light filling the space casting everything in its amber glow. You shuffle in your sleeping bag, groaning softly at the slight ache in your hip. The floor was unforgiving, and you wondered how Joel faired through the night.

Joel.

Your eyes fly open and you jolt up right. The room smells of dust and mildew, underneath it all the faintest smell of Joel’s scent. It should be stronger. Why isn’t it stronger? Your heart begins to thunder as you scramble out of your bag, panic setting into your bones. Where could he be? What happened to him?

You grab for your bag, ripping the zipper open to grab your gun when suddenly the front door opens. You nearly scream, falling back on your ass only to find Joel standing in the door way. Three dead rabbits clutched in one hand, his riffle slung over his back.

“You okay?” He steps in, closing and locking the door as you gape up at him.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me?” You demand as he walks over to the small fireplace, tossing the rabbits onto the floor with a wet thud.

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he turns away, placing his gun against the wall. “I woke you up, said I was going for food and you answered me, darlin’.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your ears turning red as you stutter. “What?”

He turns, his smile growing and growing as he folds his arms across his chest. “You said, ‘Alright. Be safe.’ Ain’t my fault you fell back to sleep.” Sheepishly you glance away, taking a deep breath before you answer. Not only has Joel brought in the smell of the dirt and earth, the smell of drying blood and wet fur; but his sent encompasses it all. It soothes your panic, settles your racing heart beat and your shoulders slouch as your muscles relax.

“I’m sorry… Maybe next time make sure I’m really awake before you walk out…”

His boots thump against the floor as he walks over, he leans down, ruffling your hair with a big hand. “You worried about me, honey?” The heat leeches its way into your cheeks, embarrassed and feeling silly about the entire thing, you shrug. Joel chuckles, straightening up as he shucks off his jacket and throws it onto his sleeping bag.

“Come on now. I’ll teach you how to skin a critter while we wait. Sound good?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For all of my other stories, please refer to:

The Complete Collection: Apollyons Master List

XOXO

[casdeans-pie]

Did somebody say snippet from my current wip?? Misuse of prayer anyone????? I just wish I could get to the part where Cas says, "I really don't think you would want to be doing this with your brother in the room." because Dean is inadvertently doing the angel equivalent of whispering intimately straight into Cas's ear. Angels are so goddamn weird and I cannot wait to write this whole thing.

---------

Boredom itched under Dean's skin. He hadn't even registered most of what he'd read on the last few pages, just turned over onto a new one every minute or so. His head sat heavy in his hand, elbow planted onto the table next to his book, and he had to resist the urge to yawn as he turned another page.

Dean glanced up at Sam, sat further down the table, with his nose pressed down close to his own book. If Dean had any hopes that Sam might be struggling to concentrate as much as him, he didn't see any evidence of it.

Cas, of course, looked as interested as he always did. He sat directly opposite Dean reading a huge book with an intensity in his expression that would be the same whether he was reading apocalyptic scriptures or nursery rhymes. A fond warmth settled in his chest.

Dean tried to follow their example and return to his own research, but after only a few minutes his leg began to bounce.

Eventually his mind wondered to the book that he'd been writing himself. It had been difficult to think of how he could write a book on Angels and get the information that he needed out of Cas without telling him about it. But a silent room, with all of Cas's focused attention on something else, felt like a perfect opportunity to get some material on prayer...

Dean tried to clear his mind (easy enough, not like he'd been paying any attention to his book) and had to resist the urge to physically clear his throat before starting.

"Cas," Dean thought, trying to make it loud inside his own head.

Dean peeked up, but Cas had had no reaction. Dude didn't even blink.

Huh.

Either his poker face is just that good, or it hadn't worked.

Thinking it loudly wasn't the same as praying, Dean supposed.

He breathed out slowly and stared at Cas, drinking in every detail of him. Praying meant faith, right? He had that. He absolutely had that. More fucking faith in Cas than anyone in the whole world.

"Cas..." slipped out of Dean's mind in a whisper, a plea, a declaration of that unwavering faith.

Cas gasped and jumped so violently that his knees slammed against the underside of the table.

"Cas? You okay?" Sam called over, concern pinching his eyebrows together.

Cas stared intensely at Dean, eyes narrowed, and he didn't even look away as he replied, "Fine, thank you, Sam. I... read something shocking in this book."

Sam looked unconvinced and switched his attention to Dean.

Dean shrugged in a you-know-what-Cas-is-like way, and eventually Sam returned to his book with a long suffering sigh and a small shake of his head.

Cas looked like he was trying not to react, but Dean knew by the hard line of his mouth that he was deep in thought, probably unsure if he'd heard anything at all. Dean had to smother a satisfied grin.

The prayer worked!

"Cas!" Dean prayed again, digging even deeper into the well of faith he had in his best friend.

This time Cas's eyes snapped open and his whole body jolted, as if he'd been struck by an electric current.

"Cas, this feels really weird and I'm not even sure I'm doing it right - but uh, this is a prayer to you, blink twice if you can hear me..."

Cas bowed his head, took a deep breath, and gripped the edge of the table.

Maybe he hadn't heard that time? Dean settled himself into his chair and tried to really think about what Cas meant to him - and how despite everything they'd been through he wouldn't hesitate to trust him with his life.

Amongst the certainty of his belief there was something tangled up in it all that felt much warmer and softer and sweeter. He tried not to examine it too closely, but some of that delicate warmth leaked into his internal voice when he prayed, "Castiel, Angel of Thursday, best buddy - breaker breaker, come in, can you hear me? I feel kinda dumb doing this, but... just give me a sign you're even getting any of this? Over."

For a second nothing happened, and Dean wondered if he'd screwed it up by throwing in the two-way radio stuff.

Dean placed his palms together under the table, wondering if that would help too. "Oh, right. Uh- amen."

Suddenly the lights above them buzzed and flickered dramatically, while a lamp in the center of the table popped and went dark.

Cas bent over even further, touching his forehead to the table, and let out such a long, loud breath it was almost a groan. He stood up from his chair so quickly it clattered backwards and he rumbled a quiet, "Excuse me," as he swept out of the room, before either Winchester could react.

Sam looked at Dean sharply.

Dean threw his hands in the air. "What?"

"Whatever you've done, go fix it."

"I haven't done anything!" Dean said on impulse, but his heart raced in his chest and the back of his neck burned just remembering that low, tortured sound Cas had made before his swift exit. The lights had returned to normal, but the casualty of the lamp bulb lay in shiny shattered pieces on the table. "Okay. Maybe I did do something. I'll go check on him."

[soriyafuq]

Seth's Character Sheet

MAIN FOCUS: Seth

Name - Seth

Nicknames - Sethy, Seth Mcflarne (by Max Godspeed), Setha Metha, Author Harvey

Species - No longer disclosed.

Username - @B333RNADETTE

Occupation - ‘Writer’

Text Color - Blue

Religion - Daisyism, (formerly believed in Artemis)

Open for asks.

^ Seth’s (B333RNADETTE) avatar.

BACKSTORY

They were once a passive dreamer, a writer in a world where stories were soft and lies wore pretty masks. But when they uncovered the Light of Truth, it didn’t bring salvation — it burned. It scorched the comforting narratives they once believed in, tore away illusion, and left them surrounded by ash and silence. The truth was not beautiful. It was brutal.

In that moment, they became something else: the Author. The narrator of their own story, the scribe of fate — but also its antagonist. With the bow forged from the very darkness that revealed the truth to them, they now write in shadows and fire, each arrow a word, each shot a sentence. The world calls them a villain, because villains tell the truth no one wants to hear.

They do not seek to be understood — only to finish the story their way.

APPEARANCE

This figure stands veiled in deep indigo robes, their face pale and half-concealed by long, pitch-black hair. A cross stitched into their matching cap hints at a past touched by faith. Their eyes, half-lidded and heavy, reflect loss more than fury. Slung across their back is not a pair of wings, but an intricately forged black bow — twisted and elegant, like something drawn from a forgotten scripture. This is not a weapon of war, but of purpose.

BEHAVIOR

Seth doesn't see a lot of care for the world anymore as they now believe that everyone that they care about will simply die, refusing to get attached to new people.

Seth is slowly becoming self-aware ever since discovering the Light of Truth, revealing that they are simply a puppet in a story.

Seth has bipolar disorder, causing them to have depression episodes where they will not be seen for days.

If Seth gets too overwhelmed or stressed, they will start violently shaking and their words will become slurred, as if they are drunk.

Seth is often silent, believing in the statement 'speak when spoken to' out of fear that someone will judge them or kill them again.

Seth's senses are now heightened ever since being killed and slowly becoming self-aware, causing them to know if something is wrong quicker than before.

Seth keeps people at arm’s length. Not because she doesn’t want connection, but because she fears destroying what she touches.

As a writer-turned-character, losing agency once nearly broke her. Now, she demands control—even if it means rewriting the rules.

Burns paper with old writings. Stares into ink like it holds the future. These acts calm her. Anchor her.

Her anger feels safer than her grief. She uses fury to mask how deeply she still feels.

Seth constantly wars with the remnants of her softer self. Some piece of her still aches for forgiveness, belonging, or even understanding—but “The Author” insists those desires are dangerous. She no longer trusts kindness. She trusts control.

When she looks in a mirror, Seth doesn’t always see herself. Sometimes it's the dreamer she used to be—hopeful, naive. Other times, it’s the faceless Author: eyes hollow, ink dripping from her mouth. Most mirrors in her world end up shattered.

MENTAL HEALTH/DISORDERS

Complex PTSD – The trauma of discovering the Light of Truth left deep psychological scars. She often relives the moment when her illusions burned, sometimes dissociating or going emotionally numb.

Schizotypal Traits – As “The Author,” she occasionally speaks or thinks in metaphors that blend fantasy and reality, sometimes unsettling others who don’t understand her worldview.

Hyper-introspective – She examines every thought, motive, and action with clinical sharpness. It’s exhausting, but she can’t not analyze.

Emotional Dysregulation (possible BPD traits) – Emotional whiplash between righteous fury and deep sorrow, especially when she feels misunderstood or cornered.

PHYSICAL HABITS

Traces glyphs or imaginary words in the air when deep in thought.

Taps fingers against her thigh in rhythmic sequences—writing silently.

Often stands in doorways, as if caught between leaving and staying.

RELATIONS

Person|(Status)|[Liking]|[Trust]|Reason (inspired by Cookie Star)

Artemis (Mother) - [89%] [65%] - Seth trusts Artemis but fears due to past experiences that Artemis will become like Atlas and Anastasia, causing them to always have a fear of them under a facade.

Archeon (Father) - [67%] [83%] - Archeon was never really around Seth, the final time that they met being during the Challenge, and before that was... when they were five. Nonetheless, they care for him.

Atlas (Grandfather) - [0%] [0%] - Seth absolutely hates Atlas after they found out what he had done to their mother. They can never view him the same. Atlas is now Dead

Anastasia (Grandmother) - [3%] [0%] - Seth had never truly met Anastasia, due to them always being in Atlas' abyss. They had only heard things that she would do when Artemis was trapped in the Minka.

Pancakepieman45 (Adoptive Grandfather) - [29%] [45%] - Seth doesn't quite like Pancake, claiming that he's too pushy on being their grandfather, and still doesn't quite trust them since the day that Artemis jumped in the abyss where he treated her like a child.

Daisy, Daisy Bell (Friend) - [96%] [89%] - Seth is quite scared of Daisy Bell. They respect them and want to be their friend. They would give up their soul for them if Daisy wanted Seth to. Null - [98%] [92%] Seth has yet to meet the other alters.

Zailyn (Friend) - [87%] [59%] - Seth is also scared of Zailyn, not being able to have a proper conversation out of fear that Zailyn will hurt them since the Final Trial.

Ell (Friend) - [97%] [100%] - Ell has always been nice to Seth and has helped them in need, causing Seth to enjoy Ell’s company.

Star (Friend [crushing]) - [100%] [100%] - Star has always protected Seth when in need, causing Seth to extremely like Star. They enjoy their company.

Zephyros (Friend…?) - [54%] [46%] - Seth is scared of Zephyros ever since they were revived due to the scare that Zephyros had given them.

Max Godspeed (Cousin figure) - [22%] [0%] - Seth thinks of Max as a cousin, but can no longer trust him after the straight jacket incident. They think he is dead and any form of him is House trying to mock her.

House (Enemy) - [0%] [0%] - Seth despises House due to hurting everyone that they were close to, and as well as House disfiguring their body and ripping their eyes out on multiple occasions.

Bakon_surviver (Acquaintance) - [13%] [3%] - Seth tries to stay far away from Bakon due to them only being an acquaintance, not wanting to get too attached and be hurt in the end.

POWERS

1. Final Draft

Fires a piercing arrow laced with dark script. If it hits, it silences the target for several seconds and causes damage over time, as if their narrative is unraveling. The arrow leaves glowing, runic text embedded in the target's body.

Visual: Arrow streaks with black and violet light, trails ink behind it.

Effect: Damage over time + silence/debuff.

2. Edit Line

The Author rewinds a brief moment of reality, dodging an incoming attack or repositioning themselves. The screen briefly glitches like a torn page, and they reappear behind their enemy — ready to rewrite the scene.

Visual: Flickers like crumpling paper being smoothed out.

Effect: Dash/backstep with frames and counter opportunity.

3. String Them Up

Targets a weakened enemy with a spectral string drawn from the Author’s bow. If the target’s health is low enough, they are strung up like a marionette and lifted off the ground — their model fades into inky dust as a page tears and vanishes. That character is removed from the fight — their role in the scene “cut.”

Visual: Black threads shoot forward, lift the target into the air. Their body turns to shadow, then to ink.

Effect: Execution; removes target from play (like a kill or phase skip).

4. Redacted Truth

Slams the bow into the ground, releasing a shockwave of black text and red lines that censor the battlefield. Enemies caught in the wave take reduced vision (fog/dark filter) and cannot use ultimate abilities for a short time.

Visual: Giant book sigil pulses out, red "censor bars" flash across the screen.

Effect: AOE ult suppression + mild disorientation.

5. Narrative Hook

Fires a hook arrow attached to a string of glowing ink. If it lands, it pulls the target toward the Author while briefly rooting them, as if they’ve been yanked deeper into the plot.

Visual: Ink-dipped hook with runes along the string.

Effect: Pull + root (short CC).

Songs

Playlist

Voice Claim

Tifa Lockhart - Final Fantasy VII

[whencyclopedia]

Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years

Paula Fredriksen is an eminent figure in the field of early Christianity and ancient Judaism, and her knowledge of the historical and religious circumstances surrounding these faiths is well-established. Her writings are essential reading for those curious about how religion, history, and culture interacted in the ancient Mediterranean.

Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years by Paula Fredriksen conveys precisely written ideas from the result of meticulously analyzing a great deal of historical data. Different branches of Christianity emerged simultaneously in reaction to a flourishing Judaism and an established religion that was not dead but was instead referred to as "paganism" by Christians. By delving into the subject of ancient "Christianities," new light is shown on the religious practices of the ancient cultures of the Mediterranean and the Middle East during the latter 200 years of the 1st century CE. Christian, Pagan, and Jewish faiths are discussed. The book itself contributes significantly to the history of Christianity and explores aspects of other religions.

Paula Fredriksen is a historian of early Christianity and William Goodwin Aurelio Professor of Scripture at Boston University. Early in her career, Fredriksen published writing on topics such as Christian antisemitism, Judaism, and Christianity. Now, in Ancient Christianities, Fredriksen traces the history of Christianity in the ancient Mediterranean from its nativity up to the 5th century. Throughout history, many people believed in the figure of Jesus transforming countries into monotheistic societies, and Fredriksen provides incalculable depth and insight into this process.

From its beginnings as a messianic sect within Second Temple Judaism to its ultimate inclusion into the late Roman imperial government and rise to prominence in the Western world following Roman rule, Fredriksen emphasizes the whole historical trajectory of Christianity from the 1st through 7th centuries. She ties together the intricate network of interactions among supernatural beings, the celestial bodies, spirits, and prophetic forces existing in the ancient "flat-disced" Earth and geocentric universe as well as the many ways in which the Pagan, Jewish, and Christian occupants of the Mediterranean interacted with these beings.

Fredriksen imparts her profound understanding of the history of Christianity and how the doctrines of the Abrahamic faiths have evolved through the ages in clear and understandable writing. In her view, the history of ancient “Christianities” is more deep and nuanced than previously thought, and she intends to "introduce the reader to the complexities and ambiguities, the ironies and surprises and the twists and turns" to reveal this. If you ask Fredriksen, the Christian faith does not have its roots just in Jesus, there is more to the origin story. Through her writing, she hopes to convey the idea that a "large cast of characters" is responsible for shaping modern religion.

According to her, the narrative and development of "Christianities" encompasses a wide range of characters, including aristocratic patrons, eccentric ascetics, gods, devils, angels, magicians, astrologers, and regular folks. The author examines the gradual conversion of numerous non-monotheistic faiths to monotheism over several centuries, drawing parallels and differences across various ethnic and theological traditions.

Theology, Israel, the impact of social factors including diversity, the necessity for governmental control, and persecutions on the development of Christianity are all covered in depth in the chapters that follow. Further discussions touch on the various regions impacted by the Second Temple Matrix, the connections between Jews and pagans, and the incorporation of Jewish people and culture into Greco-Roman civilization.

Historians, theologians, and anyone interested in the origins of one of the world's largest religious groups would benefit from reading this book, which focuses on the transition of Israel and the Jewish message of the end of time to the emergence of different gentile Christianities. With her unconventional viewpoint and extensive knowledge of the subject, Fredriksen offers readers an opportunity to learn something new. Fredriksen has been an excellent resource for scholars of global religions for decades, and her work is truly unique and rich in history; as a result, this is a recommended book. For further reading materials, readers would find Bart D. Ehrman's The Triumph of Christianity: How a Forbidden Religion Swept the World (2018) and Diarmaid MacCulloch's Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009) to be suitable companion reads.

Continue reading...

[wolfegoddess]

Priest Sabo x nun Reader x priest Ace

Random little ramble I wrote after my friend confessed they're into priests now 😅 I'll probably write more for this eventually-

Also thank you to all my friends who encouraged me to post this, I love you all and you know who you are. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

TW- blasphemy, edging, priests, masturbating, body worship, low-key sexual harassment but reader is into them too?

This went against everything they'd ever known. They'd been abandoned at the church together as babies, raised to be true men of the cloth, lived by the holy code. They were the top priests of the church and were extremely honored to know they were shepherding the Lord's lambs to true salvation.

Until you arrived.

You were so beautiful that the first time they met you, the men were sure you were a divine maiden sent from their lord himself. Soft, kind hearted, with eyes that seemed to truly see through them. You were so breathtakingly beautiful that that night the men made their first true sins against their father.

Ace came four times fisting himself in the bath thinking about how soft your lips looked when you softly mouthed his name. "Father Portgas".

Sabo was much more debauched already, grinding his leaking, aching cock between his pillow over and over again. The sight of your deep, intense, gaze as you confidently looked into his eyes playing on repeat until he was growling and grunting, soft whispers on your name falling from his pretty lips like a mantra once he finally spilled his yearning for you.

They were down, truthfully and utterly down horribly bad for you after that night. They'd find any reason to touch you, Ace resting his large, warm hand on the dip of your back as he leaned over you to examine the scripture you were reading. Or Sabo grasping your hips to steady you on the library ladder as you reach to grab an old book to help them put together the next sermon.

'It's innocent.' They thought, doing these things, only to use these moments as new material for their nightly, secretive, worships of your pull on them.

By the first month you're in the church Ace and Sabo are unable to help themselves from getting painfully hard the moment you enter the same room as them, barely able to focus on your questions as their minds reel with lavish debauched fantasies of worshipping your divine maiden body.

Unbeknownst to them you aren't fairing much better yourself. The first time you caught either of them moaning your name quietly was two weeks after arriving. You'd wanted to discuss his sermon from the day with Sabo and your body froze outside of his barely cracked door as you heard a low moan of your name. Heat danced up your neck, realizing what was happening when you peeked in and seen him hunched over his pillow. His golden locks sweaty from how hard and long he'd been fucking into his pillow thinking of you. It was so wrong. How heat pooled in your gut and without thinking, you slipped your small hand in your sleeve to reach down and feel the growing wetness in your panties.

You were truly, and utterly debauched realizing you liked being wanted by him. Silently masturbating as you watched, fingers slipping clumsily and inexperienced against your lower lips until you brushed against a bundle of nerves and nearly choked on a quiet gasp. You stopped then, fixing yourself before silently shutting his door to go and find Ace to ask for confessional.

Imagine your surprise when you stop at his door and raise your hand to knock only to hear a much louder groan of your name from behind the old oak door. Not one, but both desired you? Your head swam with thoughts, guilt, shame, but mostly arousal and curiosity. Surely it would be the gravest sin to approach either of them about this.. To voice you were interested too?

[crossdreamers]

Was Joseph of the Bible transgender?

The video "Was Joseph Trans?" by A Gender Fluid Life explores the intriguing question of whether the biblical Joseph, from the Book of Genesis, could be considered transgender or gender nonconforming.

We cannot determine whether the historical Joseph was transgender or not. That is not the point of this exercise. Instead the analysis delves into historical and religious texts, examining how interpretations of Joseph's story may align with modern understandings of gender fluidity.

By highlighting the absence of a clear gender binary in ancient texts, the video posits that Joseph's story offers a nuanced view of gender roles in biblical times. It examines the cultural and historical contexts that shaped these narratives, pointing out that ancient societies often had more fluid concepts of gender than are commonly acknowledged today.

Over at CDL the following aspects are listed:

The relevance of Joseph's multicolored coat, being associated with feminine or priestly attire

Whether we might see the deep dreaming Joseph as a shaman

Whether Jacob gifted the coat to his son as a preparation for a sacred priestly role that honored the ancient goddess of Mesopotamia

Descriptions of effeminate behavior in Joseph’s youth according to interpretations in the Midrash (Jewish rabbinical commentaries on the Hebrew Scriptures)

A Midrashic teaching that the soul of Joseph and his sister Dinah were swapped before birth

Biblical references to Joseph’s Beauty alluding to feminine beauty

An intriguing theory from the Jewish mystical school of Kabbalah about how masculine and feminine principles were embodied in Joseph, along with his grandfather Isaac, and the significance of his feminine principle being "killed" by his elder brothers when they strip him of his coat and throw him into the pit. 

The musical

By the way, the musical Joseph and Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat does not explicitly depict Joseph as queer or trans.

However, the show’s flamboyant, colorful aesthetic, campy humor, and Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s theatrical style have led some to interpret aspects of the character and the productions as queer-coded.

Discussion over at CDL.

[hiswordsarekisses]

If you do a word-study on that verse you will find this is exactly what it means. It has nothing to do with using His name as a curse-word.

Although!!!!: It is extremely important to understand that using His Name as a curse Word should never be even able to even come out of the mouth of one who truly loves the Lord. If you can get that out of your mouth it should be a deep concern and reason for self-examination and on-your-face-prayer. Imagine saying it to His Face - because that’s exactly what you are doing. This is not a legalistic view, this is about the fruit of the heart manifesting through your words, which is taught all through Scripture.

“…for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” (See Luke 6:43-45)

[bangladeshiqueermuslims]

#QueerIslamicHistory Project

“Queering the Adam”

Adam is considered the first human-being and progenitor of all humanity in all Abrahamic religions. Queering the "Adam" within the contexts of jewish, christian and Islamic traditions, scripture, and literature involves reinterpreting traditional narratives about Adam to challenge rigid heteronormative assumptions, explore gender fluidity, and examine the multiplicity of identities and relationships embedded within these texts. Such an approach does not seek to distort Adam's sanctity and nobility but rather to reimagine him in ways that affirm diverse experiences of gender, sexuality, and identity.

Gender Fluidity in the Creation

Genesis 1:27 states,

“So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”

This verse suggests that Adam was created as a being that encompassed both male and female aspects. Some Jewish traditions, particularly midrashic interpretations, suggest that Adam was originally created androgynous or intersex being, containing both masculine and feminine qualities. Similar to the biblical narrative, the Quranic story of Adam can be queered by focusing on the idea that Adam’s partner, Hawwa (Eve), was created from him. This suggests a shared essence rather than a strict dichotomy between male and female.

The Qur’an states:

“God created you from a single soul (nafs) and made its mate from it.” (4:1)

The term nafs is gender-neutral and can be interpreted as an undifferentiated soul, opening the possibility of seeing Adam as a being that transcends binary gender categories. This challenges todays binary understandings of gender and opens the door for a queer reading of Adam as embodying fluidity rather than fixed categories.

Lilith and the Question of Equality

In Jewish mysticism and folklore, Lilith is described as Adam’s first partner, created at the same time and from the same substance as Adam (unlike Eve, who is made from Adam's rib). Lilith’s refusal to submit to Adam’s authority and her departure from Eden signify a rebellion against patriarchal and heteronormative structures. Lilith’s story highlights the possibility of alternative relationships and challenges the idea of compulsory heterosexuality in the Edenic narrative.

There's no mention of Lilith in the Quran. But Iblis (a djinn) refusal to bow Adam is similar to Lilith's refusal to submit to Christian version of Adam. The role of Iblis (later known as Satan) in refusing to bow to Adam (Qur’an 7:11–12) introduces a figure who challenges divine and social order. While traditionally viewed as a rebellious figure, Iblis can also be queerly interpreted as embodying the refusal to conform to normative hierarchies. In this sense, the narrative of Adam and Iblis becomes a space for exploring the tension between conformity and individuality.

Adam’s Creation from Diverse Materials

According to Islamic traditions, Adam was created from clay of earth.

The Quran states,

“I am creating a human being from clay…” (38:71–72)

Islamic exegetes often emphasize the diversity of the materials used—different colors of earth clay, textures, and qualities—symbolizing humanity’s inherent diversity. A queer reading might highlight how Adam’s creation reflects the multiplicity of human identities, rejecting rigid binaries.

Eve and the Queer Act of Creation

The creation of Eve from Adam’s rib (Genesis 2:21–23) could be interpreted queerly as a metaphor for self-replication or a nontraditional mode of reproduction. Unlike the Biblical scripture, the Quran emphasizes on nafs rather than Adam's rib. Eve’s origin within Adam undermines strict binary distinctions between male and female. Furthermore, the deep connection between Adam and Eve can be read not just as a heterosexual relationship but as an exploration of intimacy that transcends worldy gender roles.

The Representation of Desire and Knowledge

The Quranic narrative of Adam and Hawwa eating from the forbidden tree (Qur’an 2:35–36) can be reinterpreted as a moment of self-discovery and the embrace of knowledge, much like in the biblical account. This transgressive act, often framed as sin, might also be seen as an assertion of agency and autonomy, paralleling the queer experience of claiming one’s identity in defiance of societal expectations.

The Fall as a Queer Moment

The act of eating the forbidden fruit, often framed as a "fall" into sin, can be reimagined as a moment of queer resistance in Abrahamic traditions. By transgressing the divine authoritarianism, Adam and Eve step into an awareness of their bodies, desires, and identities. This act can be seen as a metaphor for embracing knowledge and experience outside the bounds of normative structures, much like queerness challenges societal norms.

Adam in Mystical Understandings

Sufi literature often blurs the boundaries between human and divine, self and other, male and female. The concept of wahdat al-wujud (the unity of being) suggests that all distinctions are illusory. Adam, as the first human and a reflection of the divine, can thus be seen as “encompassing all identities within himself”. This mystical perspective aligns with queer understandings of fluid and non-binary identities.

The intimate relationship between Adam and God in both traditions—marked by direct communication, divine breath (Genesis 2:7; Qur’an 15:29), and care— can be queered to reflect the longing and intimacy that transcends human categories of gender or sexuality. This divine-human relationship challenges heteronormative frameworks, suggesting a model of love and connection that is expansive and inclusive.

In conclusion, queering Adam in biblical and Islamic traditions offers us to reimagine foundational stories in ways that affirm the diversity of human experience. By focusing on themes of fluidity, alternative relationships, and the rejection of rigid norms, these narratives can be transformed into spaces of liberation and affirmation for queer Christians, Jews and Muslims. This approach does not negate the sacredness of these texts but instead deepens their relevance by engaging with the complexities of human existence.

[fulich-bratsxd]

peace is not an option when your past chains you to its fingertips

— a q!foolish au ft. angst, war, and q!philza

(old qsmp au)

Phil wakes up naturally, to his own surprise, two minutes before the first morning hour finishes. It’s still pitch black outside of course, it’s the middle of the night after all, but the fallen angel doesn’t try to go back to sleep. Instead, he turns his communicator off completely, leaving it on the nightstand, before slipping out of bed as quietly as he could, trying his best not to wake up the freshly arrived Missa beside him.

He’s successful in his attempts of not making a single sound; Missa hadn’t even moved a muscle when the door to their shared bedroom creaked open, granted his husband is quite the deep sleeper. Nonetheless, Phil trudges on throughout his home, lights off and steps quiet. As he makes his way to the front door though, he thinks back to why exactly he’s doing this in the first place.

“I need to talk to you, Philza,” he remembers Foolish asking him when they finally had a single moment alone, “There’s something I need to tell you but it can’t be around the others.”

The totem sounded undeniably suspicious with his wording and nervous demeanor, but a certain glint in his eyes made Phil agree anyway. It wasn’t anything of arrogance or malice, far from it, it seemed more like genuine fear and guilt.

Opening his front door, Phil spots a dark silhouette sitting by the edge of the wall. He knows it’s Foolish already, so he doesn’t hesitate to quietly take a seat next to the man, but he does hesitate to speak. This Foolish, the one he’s sitting next to right now, is different.

He isn’t saying anything, or cracking jokes. He isn’t making little noises or barking just to fill in the conversation gaps. He isn’t even jumping around and emoting like the energetic shark he usually is.

This Foolish is quiet, calm, and collected. And that’s fucking terrifying.

“I’m sorry I had to tell you like this,” Foolish speaks lowly after minutes of just staring off into the night sky, “But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it until now… until the very end.”

Phil looks at him confused, “What are you on about, mate? What exactly are you even referring to?”

Foolish, finally, turns to look at the older male with a smile so bittersweet, so painful, it makes Phil’s stomach ache with anxiety. Silently, he hands the older male a piece of aged paper, then turns his head back towards the edge, not daring to turn back.

The avian examines the scroll in his hand, familiar yet dark memories fuzzily forming in his head just by the mere weight of it. He unravels it, and thoroughly reads the latin wording, surprised that his brain remembers the dead language yet can’t seem to comprehend the long words of spanish.

Once he reaches the end, his eyes wonder back to the first sentence and reads the whole scripture again, and again, and again, and again, until the words finally sink in. His anxiety plummets and suddenly, he feels the need to throw up rush past him like a wave crashing against a stoney shore.

"There's no way," Phil whispers in disbelief, "Another war?... in the Aether?"

The elder turns to the totem, who is still unmoving and silent, hand unknowingly crushing the scroll in his hands. Foolish still refuses to look at him and acknowledge the implications this letter is saying, but to be fair, Phil does not blame him for doing so. He would respond the same if he was too forced into submission.

"If they called you for help, then things have gone for the worst, huh?"

Foolish chuckles, but its void of all happiness, "Yeah... Those egotistical fuckers wouldn't recruit a banished lowlife like me unless their numbers were close to none."

Phil hums in agreement. The people in the Aether, the Gods of millions, if not billions of worlds, would never stoop so low as to bring back a person they exiled just hundreds of years ago unless they were oh so fucking desperate. It all just brings a sour taste in Phil's mouth.

"What are you going to do about your family? You told them right?" asks the avian purely out of curiosity, but with one look at the other's expression, he clinks his mouth shut and just stares, eyes as wide as saucer plates.

He watches as the most happy-go-lucky guy on Quesadilla Island breaks down at the thought of leaving his family behind to fight in an already losing war. The image itself brings back a memory that has been so heavily buried in the back of his mind that his body physically lurches forward in pain, unable to comprehend the familiarity of it all.

Because the last time Phil had seen Foolish cry this much was back when he was just a mere child, still frightened of the world before him. So, he simply waits until the shark finishes crying his heart out over the edge of the wall, only interfering to pull him into a fatherly hug despite Foolish dwarfing him with his giant size.

The scene is abruptly interrupted after that, with a loud boom of thunder echoing through the night sky and a crackle of lightning right behind it. The small pitter patter of rain follows as well, as the two pull away enough to see a strange, yet familiar cloud slowly approach them.

It isn't one for the binary codes that like to target their children, though, is it so selfish to wish upon that instead of its real relations?

There's a grimace on both of their faces when they realize Foolish's time is nearly up, that in the next few minutes, the island will lose another one of its inhabitants yet this time around, no one will know of their whereabouts there after. No one except Phil.

"Do you want me to say anything to Leo? Or Roier?" the avian asks as the rumbling cloud before them gets ever so closer, "You have a big family Foolish, people are bound to start asking."

Foolish shakes his head, hand reaching into his backpack and pulling out a faded jewel melded to a chain of pure netherite. It reminds Phil of a pocket watch, but he is certain it is built more like a countdown timer than a clock. Wordlessly, the totem grips one of Phil's hands and places the green emerald into his palm, patting it twice before finally letting go and facing the cloud now just a few feet away.

"Don't tell anyone about anything. Let the others make up whatever tale they decide to do. Hell, if they even want to make me the villain of their story, so be it, I don't care... I just don't want Leo to know I left just to die."

With a angered scoff, Phil responds, "You aren't going to die, Foolish. You are going to survive, and you're going to comeback to reunite with your family. I know you will."

For the first time that night, the elder sees a smile placed on the younger's lips. Foolish chuckles, wholeheartedly this time, but keeps his back towards the only person who could truly grasp the irony of this situation.

"It's funny," starts Foolish, "For once in our long lives, it's you being such the optimist, while I'm over here only thinking about the reality of things."

A loud, thunderous echo emits from the darkened cloud, now sitting idly above the both of them. There is no more time left for the both of them, there isn't ever enough.

With one last look over his shoulder, Foolish waves a lazy hand towards Phil, spouting out his last words before the cloud strikes lightning where he stands, forever ridding the "forgivened" god of Quesadilla Island. The avian quickly writes down the phrase so as to not forget its tellings, for it holds more hope than that of expected anguish.

"If the jewel dims, then you'll know that my time has come to an end. However, if it still shines the same green as my eyes, then place it a body of water when things here get a little too rough, okay?"

--

i started writing this literal so fucking long ago so the writing isn't as cohesive as i'd like it to be. I also lost interest in the concept and couldn't bring myself to write it to its full potential so a good portion of the end is just nonsense I spouted just to finish this project lol.

essentially the concept was that q!foolish gets sent to the aether to fight a war, q!phil is the only one who is told about it bc he's most familiar with gods and goddesses alike, and if q!phil deemed a situation dangerous enough, he'd be able to call q!foolish, along with his demigod powers, back to the island for a brief period to provide aid.

i just wanted angst at the time so, this is it lmao

[vincentsims333]

Ephesians 2:8-9 is a powerful passage that dives deep into the core of Christian doctrine regarding salvation and the nature of grace. The verses, laden with spiritual nuance, articulate the foundational belief that it is through the grace of God, rather than our own mortal deeds, that we are saved. This divine benevolence is bestowed upon humanity not as a prize to be earned through works or achievements, but as a gift—a token of the boundless love of the Creator.

To comprehend the full weight of Ephesians 2:8-9, let's meticulously examine the text:

"For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." - Ephesians 2:8-9 (NKJV)

Through these verses, the scripture reveals that salvation cannot be bought, traded, or merited through human effort; it transcends our mightiest endeavors and aligns us with a humbling truth: we are dependent upon the unmatched generosity of God. These words aim to instill a sense of gratitude and humility in believers, acknowledging that our spiritual rescue from sin comes not from our own hands but from the boundless compassion of the Divine. This passage challenges the believer to rethink notions of self-reliance and inspires a communal celebration of the grace that unifies all in their journey towards redemption.

In examining these evocative verses, we see how they confront human pride and dismiss the idea that we could ever stand before the majesty of God, claiming that we have earned our place by our own actions. It gives believers a perspective on faith that counters the notion of executing a transaction with God, instead inviting them to embrace a relationship grounded in trust and the acknowledgement of our own limitations. It is this profound realization of receiving unearned mercy that ignites the spiritual journey into deeper faith, compelling us to reflect our gratitude through lives transformed by His love.

Open your heart as we ponder these sacred words, allowing the magnitude of divine generosity to wash over us and transform our understanding of how we approach the ever-present quest for meaning and our relationship with the Eternal.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Except Ye Repent

by Arthur W. Pink

"Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." – Luke 13:3

In view of these solemn words it is tremendously important that each of us should seek and obtain from God the repentance which He requires, not resting content with anything short of this. Hence, there needs to be the most diligent and prayerful examination as to the character of our repentance. Multitudes are deceived thereon. Many are perplexed by the conflicting teaching of men on this subject; but instead of that discouraging, it should stir up to a more earnest searching of the Scriptures. Before turning to the positive side of this branch of our theme, let us first point out some of the features of a nonsaving repentance.

Trembling beneath the preaching of God's Word is not repentance. True, there are thousands of people who have listened unmoved to the most awe-inspiring sermons, and even descriptions of the torments of the damned have struck no terror to their hearts. Yet, on the other hand, many who were deeply stirred, filled with alarm, and moved to tears, are now in hell. I have seen the faces of strong men pale under a searching message, yet next day all its effects had left them. Felix “trembled” (Acts 24:25) under the preaching of Paul!

Being “almost persuaded” is not repentance. Agrippa (Acts 26:28) is a case in point. A person may give full assent to the messages of God's servant, admire the gospel, yea, receive the Word with joy, and after all, be only a stony-ground hearer (Matt. 13:20-21). Not only so, he may be conscious of his evildoing and acknowledge the same. Pharaoh owned, “I have sinned against the Lord your God” (Exod. 10:16). A man may realize that he ought to yield himself to the claims of God and become a Christian, yet never be more than “almost persuaded.”

Humbling ourselves beneath the mighty hand of God is not repentance. People may be deeply moved, weep, go home and determine to reform their lives, and yet return to their sins. A solemn example of this is found in Ahab. That wicked king of Israel coveted Naboth's vineyard, plotted to secure it, and gained his end by causing him to be murdered. Then the servant of God met him and said, “Hast thou killed and also taken possession?” And we are told that “he rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his flesh, and fasted . . . and went softly” (I Kings 21:27-29). Yet in the very next chapter we find him again rebelling against God, and that he was cut off by divine judgment. Ah, my reader, you may have humbled yourself before God for a time, and yet remain the slave of your lusts. You may be afraid of hell, and yet not of sinning. If hell were extinguished, so would be the repentance of many church members. O mistake not fear of the wrath to come for a holy hatred and horror of sin.

Confessing sins is not repentance. Thousands have gone forward to the “altar” or “mourners' bench” and have told God what vile creatures they were, enumerating a long list of transgressions, but without any deep realization of the unspeakable awfulness of their sins, or a spark of holy hatred of them. The sequel has shown this, for they now ignore God's commandments as much as they did before. O my reader, if you do not, in the strength of God, resist sin, if you do not turn from it, then your fancied repentance is only whitewash—paint which decorates, but not the grace which transforms into gold.

[theragamuffininitiative]

not to be weird, but it's been really interesting to watch your recent spiritual journey play out thru blog pots. I grew up (and have remained) so Mennonite (anabaptist) it's not even funny and the whole foundation of that stream of Christianity is the priesthood of all believers, no division between clergy and lay persons, community interpretation of scripture, a gospel centered interpretation of the Bible, and a Deep distrust of extra-biblical sources. we've got a confession of faith, and a whole body of literature about practical application, but no comprehensive theologies. idk what commentaries u have access to, but I have always Loved the niv application commentary series. It's encyclopedic and takes up a whole shelf in the bookcase, but it's Excellent. I'm wishing you all the best on your journey. Re-examining one's faith is always so uncomfortable (I've been doing it Constantly since I was 12? too orthodox for the progressives, too 'progressive' for the the conservatives). Also. I had Never heard John 3 discussed as anything Other than 'letter sent to a specific woman' so hearing that that's not necessarily the party line is kinda odd ngl.

Hey friend!

I grew up very reformed southern baptist. There's a big long boring backstory there of a few decades but I've been finding home in an anglican church for a bit now. I wish there weren't such a mess of denominations tbh, with Jesus saying "let them be as one as You (the Father) and I are one" but hey. Humans. We do be a mess.

Thank you for sharing how, from your background, it's generally accepted to interpret 2 John (I had to edit this, but I am assuming you meant John's 2nd epistle too? 😅) as being to a person. That's really interesting to know! We so often get so tied into the lines of thinking we have been surrounded with, we don't even see other lines of thinking exist. I know it's been that way for me, and I'm doing my best to "the one who has ears to hear let them hear" my way to hearing through the noise and allowing the fact that any human interpretation will have its faults.

When the same Spirit, the Lord, dwells within us, He can help us see through the noise (and continue to love even when we can't). It's getting rid of the noise and teachings that are not of the Spirit (the truth, as John says, Jesus Christ) that I hope to continue doing for the rest of my life.... though hopefully with considerably less angst and confusion than the past several years have gone and put me through lol.

Thanks for dropping by, and for the recommendation! 😊

[veralevina15]

Radovid and his reflections on the Eternal Flame Frame 1 . Radovid (storyteller): "As a king, I could tell you a lot about the importance of the cult of the Eternal Fire for Redania... But you want to know what place I gave the Flame in my own heart, don't you? Plunging into the depths of the past, I recall the nightly returns home from the festive liturgy with a candle in my hands, wrapped in the smell of incense and with hot wax drops on my fingers. Again I hear the sobbing bass of the priest in the Red Stone Cathedral and the quiet prayers of my mother in front of the burning lamp in the palace chapel. I remember impatiently waiting for the moment when, after a long fast, I would be allowed to taste a delicious cream pyramid. And in a library, holding my breath, I examined the colorful Book of Hours with the mysterious notes of my sister Dalka. She had long ago exchanged the crown of a princess for a headscarf of a priestess" .

Frame 2. "But over the years, I realized that deep sincere faith does not fit well with government, especially as harsh as mine. If I pretended to be a righteous man, I would look no less hypocritical than the forest animals weeping out of decency at a hunter's funeral*. Priests are also sometimes far from holiness. In their sermons and actions, I recognize painfully familiar tools of royalty: fear, suppression of the will and manipulation. The clerics know better than I do how to direct people's religiosity in a direction that suits them". * engraving by Moritz von Schwind.

Frame 3. " Of course, strictly according to the letter of the commandments, not a single king deserved either mercy or forgiveness from the Flame. Therefore, I was always surprised by the story from Scripture about how, in the hour of darkness and sorrow, Fire from heaven appeared to Radovid I the Great, which did not scorch him and blessed him. But does the Flame listen to my voice? I don't know... I'm used to relying primarily on myself".

The inscriptions in the book*. Left page, scrolls around Radovid the Great: "Behold the flame of mercy" Text at the bottom of the page: «And tongues of fire appeared to him and rested one by one around him, illuminating with light». Text on the right page, visible fragments: “And everyone was amazed and wondered ... the Flame of heaven does not scorch him... Radovid, standing in the midst of them ... and lifted up his voice and... Men and women of Redania... This be known to you... Heed my words... This is predestined... Behold the Flame of Mercy... And everyone who calls... will be saved!”

* The basis was taken from a fragment from the book of the Acts of the Apostles about the descent of the Holy Spirit in the form of fiery tongues on the apostles (chapter 2 verses 1-21)