#they can take part in the “divine right of creation” and he can’t even practice bodily autonomy

[feverdreamsandlucidnightmares]

Headcanon that Wolfwood physically can’t get tattoos or piercings because every time he takes a vial the piercing rejects and the tattoo scars over and fades because both are technically wounds and he’s never gone long enough between vials to let them heal completely.

So technically he could get them, but not keep them. Kind of makes tattoos a bust, but imagine him making Vash redo his piercings in whatever shithole they end up in for the night after a fight.

A happy, healthy Wolfwood has piercings lol

[lorei-writes]

Impression of Infinity

Vincent x Reader Fluff (?) Fantasy AU

Word Estimate: 1.5k

I blame @cheese-ception​ for this. Also, excuse typos, I literally wrote the last parts with closed eyes, because I can’t see anything just regardless - it’s all blur.

Content Warnings: none Disclaimer: Reader & Vincent are of the same age, Vincent just found himself in a very peculiar situation

Vincent’s finger twitches – and green grows between the rows of students, translucent, reaching up to the very ceiling. His wrist twists the brush by what could be an error margin, the swing of his arm summons purples, invites them alongside violets, to rest between the stars – and you watch very carefully, although you know you should observe his work, not him, that you should listen to his words, not the thumping filling your head… Yet how could you, if he has you charmed, if you cannot turn your eyes away? Vincent nearly dances, his cheeks growing redder from exercise, the canvas he chose being much greater than the body he inhabits. To paint it must be tiresome, you reckon, although your concerns vanish, the spark in his eyes causing something inside of you to sting. Clearly, he is not the same boy you used to know, not the one sentenced to the fate of failure due to his inability to enchant with his voice alone. Yet… Is there anything wrong with that? After all, his greatest flaw turned into what made him a prodigy, as you always claimed.

The heat does not hold against the chilly air of the corridor, you think, the soles of your shoes clacking against the granite floor. The air vibrates outside, kept ablaze by merciless sun, the dreaded celestial body refusing to set even at night, its halo extending from one end of the horizon to the other – and even as your eyebrows furrow, you cannot stop and stare through the tinted-glass windows for even a moment, a steady stream of humans behind your back pushing you forward. In this world of yours, rather secluded from the outside realm, it is another sort of movement that agitates the air, lively chatter lifting in clouds, further replenished by curious students.

The lecture theatre is a marvel in its own right, rows of wooden benches and bookrests refusing to fall apart despite all the centuries passed. You take your seat, in the very front row – and although you try to, you cannot help wondering who sat there before you. Have… Have they discovered anything? Gained some fame? You cannot tell for sure, that much is certain, yet… It would not be unthinkable, it would not be impossible in any way. The Seventh Century University have had quite a number of excellent graduates.

Your hands beginning to hurt, you forcibly unclench your fists, your gaze lifting up from the floor. Right in time, as the chatter stops abruptly, killed by the shriek of the walnut door. A man, no taller than average, steps inside – and something perhaps stings inside your chest, just a little bit. His robe is somewhat crooked, just the way you remembered it to be, the traditional pointy hat (much dreaded by any student, in all fairness) seemingly glaring at him from its place in his arms. He looks around, as if lost, mildly dishevelled blonde hair appearing not to have grown any more obedient the past year. Your throat tightens. He is already at the lectern. “Good evening,” he laughs awkwardly. “My name is Vincent van Gogh and I will be your Practical Astronomy professor.”

The room grows dark, obsidian seemingly crawling over all stone spaces and consuming them whole. Your jaw tightens. Was it truly just a year? To think, so much would have changed… For you both to start at the same time, and then…

It happens as if a sea of fireflies was released into the room, a single twitch of the brush in his hand colouring the nothingness anew. “As we all know, Tralangea is located within the Galatos triad, in the galaxy of Saana. Little is known about the outside universes, however, the most recent findings indicate the remaining splatter points present different variants of the reality known to us. As you should already known after going through Analytical Divination, it would align well within the still-standing model of inter-crossings. In this moment, I want you to imagine the infinite number of elements, circulating through space and interacting with one another. I will give you a second.” The light dies down again, the previously invoked golden specks splashing against the ground. “How does it look?”

No one dares disrupt the silence. How can he ask? It is impossible to answer, of course – and you are very well aware of that. How to picture an infinity? Is it… A trick question, perhaps? You go over the possibilities in your thoughts. A void? The light? You do not know. Something completely abstract, the end of all times? For all you know, it may be just that, and your fellow students seem to agree, confused whispers beginning to hum behind your back. The hushed voices growl, a sea of flies united in mere human distrust. “Professor?” some brave soul asks. “Yes? Do you have an answer?” “I… I think this is impossible.” “Oh? Why so? I might have given you too tough a question at the start,” Vincent laughs, seemingly mildly unease. “It is infinity, professor.” The room quiets down, the concern of all having been spoken out loud. “It is impossible to picture infinity with a finite mind. It would fry it up!” A smack, a couple steps. “I see, you are not aware,” Vincent muses, something swishing in the air. “Your life already is an infinity, in this very moment.”

The room begins to glow, the brush in Vincent’s hand seemingly coming to life with a mind of its own, streaks of navy blue and petrol painting below the dome, swirling and tying with shades of orange, lined with golden dust. “We do not need perfection. We need a model,” he explains softly, almost tenderly, his gaze focused.

Vincent’s finger twitches – and green grows between the rows of students, translucent, reaching up to the very ceiling. His wrist twists the brush by what could be an error margin, the swing of his arm summons purples, invites them alongside violets, to rest between the stars – and you watch very carefully, although you know you should observe his work, not him, that you should listen to his words, not the thumping filling your head… Yet how could you, if he has you charmed, if you cannot turn your eyes away? Vincent nearly dances, his cheeks growing redder from exercise, the canvas he chose being much greater than the body he inhabits. To paint it must be tiresome, you reckon, although your concerns vanish, the spark in his eyes causing something inside of you to sting. Clearly, he is not the same boy you used to know, not the one sentenced to the fate of failure due to his inability to enchant with his voice alone. Yet… Is there anything wrong with that? After all, his greatest flaw turned into what made him a prodigy, as you always claimed. You were right. You were right in not telling him not to…

Vincent lifts his arm over his head, a halo emerging above him. His lips move, a barely audible charm seeping out of his lungs and pulling his creation into a newly created sphere. The room lights up again, granite having conquered the walls. You blink fast. Is it over already? “We have a little more time, so allow me to repeat myself. It is not about creating perfection, but much rather… An impression,” Vincent laughs, perhaps a little shy of what they have just witnessed. “The universes are infinite and so are their interpretations. With our current state of understanding, we cannot provide an accurate depiction. However, different stances on them can be beneficial in certain contexts. Do you know what my model could be used for?” “Map of the stars!” somebody shouts in the back. “Exactly,” he agrees, nodding happily, his lips curled into a smile. “It is what I focused on. By the end of the year, I want you to be able to process an infinite amount of information and take only a fraction of this information. Starting next week, we will be deconstructing our universe. Any questions?” Silence. “You’re free then, thank you.”

The seats around you empty at a gradual pace, some pooling around the lectern (it appears the shyness is quite infectious, you note) while others speed out of the hall, seemingly terrified of classes which are yet to come. You, however, you stay still, as if unable to move, although there is nothing holding you back. Is it you? Is it a mean spell somebody has cast? You do not know, although it seems it is not your day for knowing anything, Vincent, the very Vincent you knew so well, emerging right before you, from who knows where. He graces you with the brightest smile you have seen in a year. “Hello. I didn’t know you were taking my class,” he says, a trace of laughter in his voice. “I saw you listed as the professor and could not believe it, so of course, I had to see it for myself,” you reply, shaking your head, perhaps mildly amused. “Congrats! That internship must have been so hard, you skipped so many years! I hope they didn’t torture knowledge into you there, professor Van Go –” you stop before you finish the word, Vincent scratching his head, his eyes drifting way from you. “Vincent?” “Well, emm… I didn’t skip any years,” he laughs. “It is just those models. The rest, well…” “You still need to pass them?” “Please, tell me you have not chosen my subject over Astral Projection this year,” he forces out of himself – although you barely hear it, laughter shaking your arms violently. “I haven’t. How does this even work?” “I don’t know. I don’t think they know either.” “Oh, Vincent. Well, professor van Gogh, get ready for failing Astral Projection, Miss Szajna took over it this semester and I do not see anything painting in bright colours, unlike your models.”

You get up, the both of you walking to well, the next class. How does it all work? You have no clue. However, it does not matter in the slightest, a weight having been lifted off your heart. You can still tell him those three words. You have not lost your chance.

Tag List: @cheese-ception​​​​, @kisara-16​​, @nad-zeta​, @rikumorimachisgirl​ @bestbryn​​ If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

[imreallyhereforkataang]

I'm unsure about how's the best way to articulate this, but I'm kind of surprised there's not more fan content highlighting the otherworldly aspects of Kataang, and a part of me wishes we could see a bit more of that.

I'd expect that most if not all fandoms frequently have an affinity for glamorizing aesthetics of characters and ships, and content creators who I know often look for ways to convey that sort of thing. I've also witnessed lots of people on this site claim that they first became attracted to a ship for its aesthetic because they saw embellishing artwork that didn't really highlight much about the characters' personalities, but was still gorgeous and impressive to look at.

And yeah, it makes sense that content creators and consumers in fandom engage with works that make epic an idea that may be primarily based off the “what” of the characters, or the situations they find themselves in, rather than the finer details of the “who.” The resulting creation is similar to what happens when the personal elements of a legend get lost over time, while the sensational aspects continue to be retold and glorified. That sort of thing makes for extremely intriguing depictions of the original source material, even if it’s at the expense of some of the subject’s humanity. Though, even when that depiction becomes so far removed from the original that it's totally unrecognizable, I do think it's often still fascinating and creative, and maybe should be its own celebrated thing altogether.

It's just surprising to me, and kind of disappointing if I'm honest, that, based on the relative lack of fan content doing this, many people seem to either not recognize or not act upon how Kataang has that exact aesthetic potential.

If you were to keep the basics of their story intact but tell it through a different lens or genre, maybe dramatize it a bit, it would be so easy to emphasize how Kataang is literally like a demigod and a mortal falling in love. That on its own to me sounds like the premise for the epic love story fandom culture would traditionally find appealing. And it's really not much of a stretch -- that is one legitimate way to look at the pairing if you broke it down to its objective pieces, even if it's not the most focused-on part of their relationship in the original material (though it certainly is alluded to). The source material is much more detailed and personal, like watching a show where Oma and Shu are the main characters versus hearing the major beats of their legend.

For Kataang, we can definitely take it further with drawing out their major beats. The mortal comes into her own and is shown to be a force of comparable measure to the demigod, as she is his self-appointed protectress. She releases him from dormancy, bringing him back into the world to fulfill his grand destiny, and on their quest, she would become his teacher, both in training and in reacquainting himself with the new era. At one point she would even revive him and his line of divinity after watching him be struck down and killed. This mortal is his first devotee, and his personal connection with her makes her his attachment to the world and, in extension, the mortals he protects.

Meanwhile, the demigod is the personification of the mortal's faith, a vessel of the compassion she feels so deeply for others. He takes her places, literally and metaphorically, she never could have gone before, teaching her in turn about lost practices and new perspectives. He can legitimately bring her to the skies with a unique ability that no one else in the entire world possesses -- an ability that also defines much of what he stands for and what her world has been missing in his absence.

Not to mention how the mortal was one of the only people who believed this demigod would resurface, and the only person by his side from the start of meeting him in their warring environment. The two were born nearly 100 years apart, yet their connection and love is shown to transcend both time and space. Their elements and roles to the world and to each other can be represented by synergistic air and water, which are associated in canon with freedom/peace and change/virtue, respectively. And if one were going to dramatize Kataang's relationship and what it stands for, their exchange could reasonably be depicted as the bridge between the heavens and the earth (moon and ocean).  

Like, truly, their story is so mythical. The pieces are there. Think about how their theme is called "The Avatar's Love" and segments of that theme are reused for LoK, pointing to Aang's reincarnation cycle and how the love he feels transcends so many lifetimes, but he chooses Katara in this particular one. Think about what Yangchen says to Aang about the reason the Avatar is born a human and not a spirit, that the Avatar must live amongst humans and experience human emotions to recognize how precious the life is that the universe entrusts him with protecting. Think about Aang's chakras in The Guru, and not just the Love and Thought Chakras but nearly all of them, and how truly tied Katara is with his energy, his spirit. That can't be faked -- that's real, genuine influence, her touching his life in ways that highlight his humanity. Think about how Aang has a real-time vision of Katara without even intending to, and the only other being we see Aang do something similar (but intentionally) with is Appa, to whom Pathik says, "You and the Avatar's energies are mixed. You have an unbreakable bond."  

Think about the Pietà pose in The Crossroads of Destiny and all that symbolizes about Aang and Katara (honestly that alone should be enough because it speaks volumes), including their world savior/first believer dynamic. How Katara brings Aang back to life and says, "I don't know what I did exactly," thus giving fuel to the idea that saving him didn't just constitute normal healing on her end. Think about the visual parallel between her resurrecting him and her releasing him from stasis in the first episode. Think about Katara's extended opening narration in the pilot and how it evolves to when she meets Aang, with just as much trust in an idea as in what ends up being the real thing.  

Think about their relationship when Aang goes into the Avatar State, embodying his most divine form. How Katara is able to speak with and approach him, and how he can hear her and respond to her while in that state, honing all his past lives. Think about when Aang deals the heavy attack at Fong's base that would continue to haunt Aang for so long afterwards, which showcases how out of control he is here, yet his blow from all Avatars completely and deliberately avoids Katara while targeting everyone remotely near her. Think about how Katara is so unafraid of a raging demigod, even when the person underneath hasn't been acting like himself lately, that she doesn't flinch at the output of his anger and just goes to him as everyone else runs. Think about that visual where she grabs onto his arms and pulls him from the air that only he can bend to the ground she's tied to and into her arms. Think about how she always tries to catch him when he falls, because she is adamant about being his cushion to the earth.

Think about how Aang is the reason Katara gets to touch the heavens. Think about how he takes her on an epic journey across the world so she can learn waterbending and make the difference she's always wanted. How being with him, the one person with a divinely granted duty to the world and who will always choose her, puts her right on the foreground for making that difference. Think about how they can still waterbend together even if Katara can't airbend -- no one can besides Aang. Think about their push and pull of the water and how it highlights their equal footing, and that although, as the demigod he is, Aang can master all the elements, Katara is the mortal who teaches him mastery in the one they share between them.

I don't know, to me it's all so cool and awe-inspiring. Obviously the most important part of Kataang's relationship is how their personalities play off each other and how they treat each other, but in terms of this kind of grander depiction, I think of it more like Oma and Shu. We don’t know the details of how Oma and Shu acted towards each other, yet we hear the story about the power of their love and take inspiration from it.

So yes, I unfortunately don’t see this pronounced demigod/mortal iteration of Kataang very often in fan works, but it makes for a pretty dang fascinating legend to contemplate anyhow.

[tintentrinkerin]

nothing on my tongue but hallelujah...

Rating: Explicit

Pairing:

Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles, Jared/various, Jared/Alex Calvert

Warnings: 

Gangbang, Barebacking, Jealousy, Top Jared Padalecki, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Religious Cults, Power Dynamics

Summary: Jared's Cult, the "Church of Grace" is a peaceful and harmonic little community in the South. Then young Jensen appears and rocks the Cult leader's world - moreoever, it rattles Alex awake, who's been sure to be his leader's most loved member.

Written upon request

Word Count: 9.9k

Read below the cut or on AO3

Kudos are love <3

The Divine Five Pillars of “Church of Grace”

Obedience

Purity

Community

Free Love

Kindness

The “Creed”

I believe in God, the Father and the Almighty,

who created the world, the people, the seas, the animals and the trees.

I believe in God’s son, who is his true Vicar on Earth

For he brings joy, love, community, kindness and hope. 

I reject the Devil and his kin. I turn my whole existence to 

the true Vicar of the Holy Father. 

I hereby swear to follow the five divine rules of the Church

and give myself into the hands of God’s most graceful creation.

May He and God’s Angels lead me into Paradise.

Amen.

2 Corinthians 11:13-15 

For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.

Siddharta Gautama

Through true honesty deeply believe that all sentient-beings are one.That all beings have the same true nature, wisdom, virtue.

If people knew how much effort it took to get an orgy going, they probably wouldn’t even bother and settle for porn instead. 

Jared and Alex had to plan every monthly “gathering” very thoroughly, especially, when new recruits and adepts arrived. The new boys and girls would maybe chicken out at first, but that wouldn’t be punished. Later, yes. At their first time? No. Jared was very kind to those he found. In other communities they’d be punished right on spot. But Jared, no no, he wasn’t that barbaric. He wanted everyone to feel happy and included. Everyone had to use the headquarter’s communal showers or baths after they had an extensive cleansing plan, to purify their body and also a very intense work out session. All for purity’s sake. Jared loves purity. 

The garden behind the Church of Grace’s headquarters was around 400 acres, enough space to celebrate free love, the holy spirit within all of us, and most importantly, worship the true Vicar of God on Earth. Forget Jesus. 

Jared was pleased when he saw his usual very busy adepts who were about to be initiated in the second step of Priesthood. They were so eager and they had a fantastic taste in decorating. There will be a bonfire, it’s May 1st after all, one of Jared’s favorite dates for a gathering. Pagans used to celebrate Beltane, well, they still do. In tiny groups, the Wiccans and the Druids. He has no affiliations with them, but as a shepherd of his sheep he needs to be informed. Wise. He wants to be the one who can answer all their questions, give interpretations. His interpretations. His view of the world. And in his world, only his Church will bring them peace and harmony and closer to God’s grace and mercy. 

The bonfire wood is piled right in the center of the garden, the part of the garden that members are allowed to see and walk on. Around the bonfire a lot of big wooden logs are placed for the followers of Jared to sit on. As soon as the fire burnt down a little bit and some chalices of holy wine were emptied and some delicious weed was consumed, the orgy might start. Jared will let the believers start first. There’s always a couple or a single horny person that will start wooing a person of their interest. Jared will join later, when the ecstasy is palpable and the adepts play the drums, letting the mass of naked bodies find their rhythm. Behind the huge pile for the bonfire, there’s Jared’s seat. A massive chair made of dark wood, polished, carvings all over. Still a thing someone could find a little too pagan, but Jared doesn’t care. The truth is what he speaks, not the others. And the truth is, that people still are just the same as in the early Middle Ages. The same things struck them with awe, and it’s not churches in white marble and Jesus hanging from crosses. Nature and it’s forces, the hidden desires. Intimate, primal and authentic. That’s his motto. No nude angel chiseled out of porcelain will make people feel this kind of raw euphoria and devotion as a bonfire and some drums do. Let the drums shake their cores and make their blood rage. This is how you make people feel their primal truth, and then, they’ll realize why doing this once a month is so freeing. They will get back to work, back to Jared’s mass, satisfied and their needs soothed. Then they will happily obey, stay pure, pray and make the community itself a functional unit of people with the same values.

And their money. It’s always gonna end up in such a community running itself, on donations, the members’ money and other things. 

When the sun sets, the members of the community sit down on the wooden banks or logs, or they bring a white towel to sit on. Jared counts the members and everyone is there. Alex sits beside Jared’s chair, obeissant. 

The white flowy cult dresses start billowing in the wind. Jared sits down on his chair, with a graceful flowing movement. He’s dressed in white too, linen, see through even when dry. When he sits all the heads turn to him. In the twilight of the remaining sunbeam, you could think, Jared just descended from heaven. He likes that idea. He raises his arms and in his strong, rough voice he proclaims “Brothers, sisters, it’s time for our monthly celebration. You cleansed your bodies, you prayed and did good service to the community. Now is the time to reward you, my brothers and sisters. Let’s have the holy communion, break bread and offer it to your neighbours, offer wine to your friends. Connect.” There’s faint applause and Jared puts his hand down. “No need to applaud, my dear sister, tonight, we celebrate you and your devotion and purity!”

He turns to Alex, dressed in white linen trousers. “Brother Alex will light  the fire and then, brothers and sisters, enjoy the bread and wine, let your spirits flow and find your matches for tonight!”

The crowd cheers and they end the chorus with a loud and enthusiastic “Amen!”

“Amen!”Jared echoes and his voice layers upon everything else.

When he sits down and Alex lights up the fire he watches all these people, the four new recruits. A young cute redhead girl, she looks like condensed sunshine - a young boy, looks like he’s here because the redhead is here (he’d be weeded out tonight) - another redhead, looking fierce. A snake. He might take a closer look at her - and then, there is Green Eyes. The boy that Jared picked himself. Usually one of his lower assistants would pick them but this time, Jared had to intervene. He needed these assistants to weed out the no go’s just before Jared could even see them. He couldn’t check on every person willing to join, they needed to make a first sighting and then the few ones who might be of Jared’s interest, would be invited to meet the True Vicar himself. Usually, that was 10 out of 200 or even less. And Jared was just as rigorous with ditching the foul seeds. But Green Eyes was his favorite all along. Those eyes… 

Alex breaks the loaf of bread and offers it to Jared. Of course, he’s on his knees and only looks up when Jared takes the half of the loaf and gives him his blessing.

“May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” Jared says very formally. Alex looks up, his face has tiny sprinkles of ash on them already and his robe turned transparent from the sweat. He’s decent. Will he try as the first one today? Like always? 

“May you be blessed by your Father, Our Lord and his Angels,” Alex replies until Jared gestures to him to stay up. 

“Amen.” 

“Amen.”

Jared eats and then receives the wine from Alex too. That’s a golden rule. As his personal assistant, Alex receives the blessings from Jared. Just after him, anyone is able to be blessed by their Master. They share half of the bread, they will need the rest later. In this community it is not necessary to receive Jared’s blessing to consume the holy communion as his liberal practice says that any true believer in their community, on one of the 12 holy days of their community “gathering”, can offer and receive blessings from a brother or a sister. Jared’s happy about that, because blessing 120 people would make him pass out drunk and he can’t have that. He is in control. And he needs to stay in control, too. 

Around him, the wine, the food are eaten and some herbal cigarettes are lit, the thick smell of weed is everywhere. Four cult members responsible for music start playing the drums and flutes now. Quietly still, just a hint that soon, the gathering will start with their original purpose. The physical and mental connection of the members with each other. Jared can already see people who are done eating, wine tipsy and a little herbally relaxed. Hands wander under togas and robes, simple shirts and wide hippie trousers. Alex stays with Jared, looking down on the obedient sheep doing what they’re supposed to do. The fabric in his crotch is tenting. One look in Alex’ face tells Jared everything.

“You won’t give up, huh?”

Alex shakes his head. “No. I will never give up.”

Jared now stands up and stretches like a cat that has just awoken and now is on their way to do some mischief. “Boy, all of you try so hard, but none of you can take it.”

“It’s about receiving your mercy,” Alex says, now sounding a little sulky. 

Jared heads towards the bonfire where some couples (or more) are intertwined with each other, laying on the bare grass, sitting on logs or they found a nice spot on the white towels everyone brought. Right in the center, around the fireplace, it is too hot to sit there. Jared makes his rounds, ruffles some hair here, kisses a girl there, even helps a young girl settle on her lover’s cock.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he coos, “that’s how you show your love and devotion.”

She would be too tight and small for him though. All the women here would surely love to try again and again, but none of them would be prepared for his cock. 

When he is done doing rounds around the bonfire he sits down on an empty white blanket and just like it’s natural, the free members gather around him. The drums start playing a hard and catchy rhythm. 

The psychology behind music and rhythm. His members really know how to play a mass of people and put their bodies in the right directions. Alex joins and everyone respects Jared’s assistant too much to try and get Jared before him. In absolute devotion, Alex pulls Jared’s white linen pants down to his naked ankles, then off his naked feet. The participants murmur and gasp, such a delight every time. Jared didn’t wear boxer briefs or anything else underneath and so, everyone can admire his massive cock. It’s big, the erection growing strong and hard and the tip bounces against Jared’s toned six pack, above his belly button. Even Alex with his long filigrane and very skilled fingers can’t wrap around the shaft fully. 

They all watch, not even Alex dares to touch him yet. 

“You. Alex. Claire. You were such a good team last time. Would you show me how perfectly you harmonize?”

The blonde girl blushes deep red and Alex first raises an eyebrow. It’s clear who he wants, but he would never deny one of Jared’s commands. And that’s what it is. A command. 

Alex pushes Claire on all fours, one strong hand in her hair and presses her down while he sucks on two of his fingers and then penetrates her with them. She squeals and giggles, but before Alex fucks her he knows he has to give his true interest a show, and he will. While fingering her he presses his face between her buttcheeks and starts sucking. The scene gets very loud with pleasure noises very soon and another guy asks to accompany them. 

Jared supports himself with one arm and the other he uses to stroke his cock, throbbing and hot, he loves it when his followers put on such a show. He’s leaking some precum already and a boy next to him looks at it. Greedy and inexperienced. Jared doesn’t let him taste yet, and instead the nameless boy bends down to kiss Jared’s very muscular thighs. Another follower starts doing the same on the other side, everything with Jared stroking himself slowly. He wants to enjoy every minute of it. His toes are sucked on, submissive followers suck them like it’s his massive member. The first brave adepts gather around them too and Jared can’t help but smile. People stroke his hair, kiss his neck and leave their marks, but what Jared really needs is someone taking his cock like a champion. He knows he’s intimidating. Thick and lock, and even grows bigger when hard. The first adept who is bold enough to come forward is very much welcome. He has himself oiled pretty well, he smells flowery and when he sinks on Jared’s cock (just the tip!), he freezes. 

“Oh… God”, he hisses, “oh my f… so big…” Jared smirks, his hands on the twink boys hips. Such a beautiful boy, Jared would love to fuck him and fill him up, but it looks like he is already failing at the tip. 

“Go slow, my dear,” Jared says nonetheless. A guru can hope. 

Two hands on his shoulders push the boy farther down and he cries out, half in pleasure, but also in pain. The hands disappear and the young man on Jared’s cock looks like he’s about to cry. 

“It’s too much for you, hm?”

The boy nods and gets up, legs shaking. You can tell he never had a guy fuck his ass before, bonus points for using oil as lube. He might try again after he gets used to it with another cult member. He stammers an apology. Jared pulls him down for a second and presses his thumb on the boy’s forehead. 

“I bless you, brother.”

It’s a ritual, it’s a necessity, or the boy will maybe consider leaving. But most of the boys, like Alex, stay close to Jared and try it again and again and again. Some people are overachievers, maybe one day it will be successful. 

The boy mumbles an Amen and then strolls away, looking for another group he can find a place in. Jared still feels the tight ass of this boy and, damn, how much he loves it when they’re tight, maybe an anal virgin even, and he’s the first to fuck them. Another brother sucks him off, but  he also has trouble swallowing more of Jared’s wand than just the tip. His sucking is superb, ambitious even. Drool runs down his throbbing cock, damn, he even makes delicious sounds! Jared’s head falls back and he wishes he could blow his first load, but all these attempts of his followers just leave him just ‘almost coming. The man takes him deeper now but is interrupted by heavy gagging and he has to give up. Now it’s Alex who claims to be next. Alex is the kind of guy who acts like a passionate lover with anyone, even though he only craves  Jared’s attention. He’s open and gaping already, must've gotten into a very nice threeway with Kathryn and the other member. Alex sinks on Jared’s cock, his back pressed against Jared’s sweaty chest. Alex is able to take more than just Jared’s tip after extensive dilating practice or when he’s been fucked already by two or more of his brothers of the Church, but that leaves Jared only semi turned on, too. He feels loose, not as tight as when he tried it the first time and cried for several minutes because Jared’s dick almost tore him apart. It’s enough to make Jared cum and bless Alex with an intense prostate orgasm, but still Jared is not satisfied. When Alex leaves and some others follow him to the pool, he sits down again, crotch still throbbing, his need still not satisfied. Around him the orgy is at its peak, no one is alone by now, everyone is sharing their love and energies. Jared is gifted, his cock is ready again five minutes later and he mounts that ginger woman, the adept. But she winces when he’s halfway in and Jared has to pull out. She’s biter and a scratcher, her thick accent is sexy and he makes her cum multiple times with his tongue and fingers, but he holds back now, he waits for the perfect one. Someone to form a union with. A tight one, but skilled and resilient. A man that can take his cock and even if it hurts a little, push through. 

Jared sinks down on one of the blankets, lies down and stares in the clear starry night, a follower brings him a pillow and others massage his thighs and arms, his feet. God, yes, his feet are so sensitive. Another guy shyly asks if he may be of service and when Jared opens his eyes and looks up it’s Green Eyes. He hasn’t seen the boy since the beginning of the orgy. Jared immediately hikes up and shoos his other followers away. 

“Sure, sit with me.”

The boy with the forbidden pretty pouty lips, the rough voice and piercing green eyes sits down, facing the self proclaimed Vicar of God.

“You want to be of service, what was your name again? I’m sorry that I have to ask, I am terrible with names – most people change theirs after initiation anyway and that’s what stays in my memory.”

Green Eyes looks at him. “I’m Jensen.”

“Hello Jensen. I’m glad you came to our monthly free love gathering. Is that the kind of religious practice you seek?” 

A girl offers them some bread and a chalice of wine, plus some mushrooms on the side.

“It would be an honor, Jensen, to break the bread and drink the wine with you. Mushrooms are not mandatory if you’re allergic to that kind.”

Jensen grins and echoes the girl’s “amen” and gives her a smile. It’s gotten a bit quiet around them, some followers watch Jared and his new recruit very, very closely. 

“I don’t want to break the protocol, who is supposed to break the bread and offer it?” Jensen asks with a shy grin. Jared chuckles.

“We do not have a strict protocol, not on these special nights when we celebrate freedom and harmony. And free love. When we surrender to our primal instinct, you understand?”

Jensen nods seriously. “Yes, I get that.”

He rips off a piece of loaf then a second and offers one to Jared without the ceremonial motto. Jared ignores that (at least today) and receives the bread. “May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” he says, presses his thumb on Jensen’s forehead and mumbles an “Amen”. Jensen echoes again, then takes a bite. When he’s done Jared offers him the wine with the same motto, and this time Jensen copies it, even though the Vicar is addressed during that sentence with “May you be blessed by your Father, our Lord and his Angels”. He will learn that, Jared will make sure of it. 

No one dares to come any closer after they’ve been offered shrooms, bread and wine. Some couples, or whole piles of copulating people don’t care what’s around them but some very devoted followers of Jared’s doctrine watch their Messiah and the new man very closely. Some are envious. Some are in awe of these two beautiful men sharing the body of Jesus Christ (strictly speaking Jared’s ‘brother’, just a few thousand years earlier) in such a manner. Jared’s tanned body glistens in the light and sparks of the bonfire and his hair started curling a little lately. Several people’s eyes turn wet. Given the beauty of their leader. Or given the fact there’s a new boy in town. And this boy is too pretty for his own good.

II

The wine is dry and aromatic, nothing you would just chug down and Jensen and Jared empty four chalices which are refilled by a maid that was brave enough to disturb her leader and the new recruit. It’s gotten chill and the bonfire shrinks and shrinks, some members of the Church try to revive it for a little longer and throw thick and heavy branches on it, along with brushwood that would burn easily and then transfer the fire over to the branches.

Just like in the 16th up to the 18th century – this is how you build a pyre to burn witches.

Jensen carefully, even a little shy now, lays a hand on Jared’s leg. The leader is surprised, given his attitude and behaviour he didn’t count on Jensen to take part in the orgy, he seemed more the watching type. The bonfire reflects in his intense green eyes and Jared feels an aching towards his new recruit. 

Now he realizes that Jensen’s white shorts are tenting. The way he looks up at Jared, through his thick blonde eyelashes it’s absolutely acting. Jensen is not that shy. Maybe a little. 

“The others told me…” Jensen started, “that I should under no circumstances give in to your… advances. You would, how did they say… tear me apart…? I wonder why…”

Jared snorts as an answer. Amused. His followers keep saying this to either see if someone’s brave enough to come forward right in their first few months here or if they’ll chicken out. 

“Well!” He has to laugh again. “Look, I think you’ve… you’ve watched a little without participating in this celebration, right? You’re still dressed, to my dismay!”

Jensen blushes, one hand on his crotch. Now, this reaction is a little more honest. 

“I can, I mean…”

Jared laughs louder now and then lays his hand on Jensen’s, that is covering his erect penis.

“Don’t make it awkward, Jensen, it’s fine. Not many participate in their first orgy and you are not obliged to, either. This is about free love. Father gave us free will for a reason. Because without free will, there is no love on this Earth.” 

There’s one streak of Jensen’s chin long hair, it’s styled but now the hairspray or the gel isn’t working it’s magic anymore. Jared brushes the strand behind Jensen’s ear. He’s closer to the recruit now and Jensen’s hand under his pulls away for the messiah to feel what’s underneath. 

“Regarding your concern about ripping you apart… I would never. But as you can see…”

Jensen’s eyes fixate on Jared’s growing cock and he gulps visibly.

“Yes, I…”, he looks up again, doe eyed and his mouth slightly opened, his pink silky tongue wets his lips. 

“You have the face of an angel, do you know that? I wonder what hides behind that…”

Jared’s voice is low and rough now, he groans when under his fingers Jensen’s cock jumps. 

“Jared, but… what if I can’t--”

“Shush, I’ll prepare you for it. And we have masses of oils. We’ll go slow. Very slow.”

A whisper erupts amongst the witnesses, their leader and idol! – wooing Jensen. A newbie. Some figures in the dark hurry for more oil, whole cans of it, juices, towels and fresh clothes. This is a choreography of duty to care for Jared. Everyone knows this is an occasion they won’t be able to witness that often. So far only one person could take Jared’s cock and fulfill his most aching wish. 

It’s Alex’s now hated duty to bring it all over to the blanket where Jensen climbs in Jared’s lap, panting faintly between two very passionate kisses. There’s fresh bread, more wine, water from the Church’s own well, fresh clothes for both and a big bottle of lube, oil based. It will stain every inch of fabric it’ll meet. Jared doesn’t even look up at him when he retreats, but he throws a ‘thank you’ in his direction. As soon as Alex is out of reach he is forgotten. 

Jared takes his time with this one. His commune members are in such harmony with each other already that prolonged foreplay isn’t necessary, but of course encouraged. Jensen is vocal, moans in their kisses and Jared loves the effort and the devotion he shows already. Jared pulls Jensen’s clothes off and bathes in the glow of this beautiful sight. Jensen’s skin is flawless, soft. It’s a joy touching him. Jensen pulls him in another kiss and arches in the leader’s strong arms - so responsive, in every way! 

“I want to try it,” Jensen then whispers, shakily.

“What exactly?”

“Take you. Suck you.”

Jared chuckles and gets up, pulls Jensen along on his lap. Jensen’s hand is big, he has deliciously thick fingers and Alex would appreciate some good fingering from him. He should introduce these two a little later

Jensen slides between Jared’s legs, who’s supporting himself with his arms to be able to watch Jensen try and gag on his cock. Jared senses some of his sisters and brothers coming closer, silently, to not interrupt them in their exploration ritual. He can’t blame them for being curious, and this is the exact purpose of their monthly gathering. Enjoy each other freely. 

Jensen’s mouth waters and when he opens his lips, a thick streak of drool runs down his face and chin. He doesn’t hesitate to bend down and wrap his lips around Jared’s tip.

A moment of breathless silence from everywhere. 

Jensen. slides. deeper. 

Jared moans and his head falls between his shoulder blades, so that he can see the clear starry night sky.

He will stop now, it’s too much. Oh God it’s too much, he can’t do it, Jared thinks, and then he starts praying Please let him go deeper. 

Jensen’s mouth feels tight, soft, and hot and he produces so much drool, it makes it messy. Perfectly messy. Jared’s head falls foward again and he watches Jensen taking him inch by fucking inch. Jared’s cock disappears in Jensen’s tight throat to the root. Jared stays perfectly still and tries to not even move a hair’s breadth. Jensen’s hand slightly presses on Jared’s stomach and then pulls away slowly. Painfully slowly, while working Jared’s incredibly thick shaft with his tongue. As soon as he’s able to look up to Jared everyone can see streaks of tears in his angelic face and his flushed cheeks. He keeps on working Jared’s tip, circling the bundle of nerves under the tip and then, with a high pitched gasp, pulls away completely.

He looks over to Jared and smiles. “Did I do good?”

Jared nods. It’s been ages since someone took him completely. It takes all of his willpower to not grab in Jensen’s hair and force his mouth down again to suck him off.. and then fuck his recruit’s face. He would gag and whine so pretty…. Jared needs a moment to breathe in and out very deeply, call himself to reason. 

“You are perfect,” he says, his voice shaky. “By the Angels, you are the best.”

Jensen blushes even deeper and looks away. He notices the other believers have gathered around them. Jared combs through his hair. He feels that Jensen now really is shy.. that’s not a show.

“Don’t bother, my dear. They won’t touch you if you don’t want to. I’m here for you and only you. Okay?”

Jensen nods. “So I really did good? Did no one before me take you that deep? I mean it’s a bit tricky but -”

Some of the watchers moan. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“They all tried, dear. And failed. I guess you just earned yourself a title.”

Some of the watchers lurk in the dark, some are illuminated by the fainting bonfire. The sound of drums is gone. Jared watches Jensen look around and get used to it, after all. Then he turns to Jared and grins.

“I will work to keep the title then…,”

Jared pushes his delicious mouth on his cock again, and yes, fuck, holy fuck YES, Jensen can take him. He takes him so deep that Jared can feel his throat tighten and contract, but he’s not gagging in the bad way. Tears fall and drool runs down his reasonably thick shaft. Jared’s hand grips in Jensen’s hair and pulls. Jensen utters a surprised but pleased moan and keeps going faster and faster. One hand sneaks around Jared’s balls and massages them. Jared’s hips buck up and Jensen needs a break for a second, deep, hectic breathing, his teary eyes, the rest of the bonfire glistens in his eyes. Jared has a hard time holding back his possessive nature when Jensen just worships him like that. Faint and aroused moans around them show Jared that the others enjoy Jensen’s show as well. Some couples even have started fucking. Girls stand close by, rubbing their swollen and wet parts. 

“Look around,” he orders Jensen, “look around, how much love you spark.”

“Your voice… so deep… so much deeper,” Jensen is still fighting for breath. It makes Jared only crazier. 

“That’s you, you do that to me.” 

Jensen’s hand is still stroking him. Jared would be ready to come just now, preferably he’d shoot his massive load right in his throat, but what he wants even more, what’s the source of the deepest aching is the longing to finally be inside someone fully. He wants to ram his cock in Jensen up to the root and make him come first, then Jared could let go. 

“You’re close,” Jensen whispers and presses a kiss on Jared’s lips. “I swallow if you’re into that…”

Jared’s answer is a low and growl. “What I really want…”

“Let me guess… you want to fuck me? Here in front of all these people?”Jensen sounds out of breath, thrilled, over excited. His hands are shaking when he pulls himself on Jared’s lap.

Jared holds him close, his raging, painfully hard cock pressing on Jensen’s asshole. It’s slick from all this spit, but he wouldn’t dare to just enter him now, without warning. Without giving him something to chew on while Jared has to push his way in. 

“Free love. My pleasure is their pleasure,” Jared manages to say. He’s very proud to have that uttered in a manner that makes him seem still in control of himself. 

Jensen laughs quietly and then climbs down Jared’s lap. He stands up. And everyone can take a look at this beautiful body, shaped by God to strike people in awe. His own cock is thick and looks just delicious, Jared might want to get a taste one day, too. Then Jensen turns around and lowers on all fours, his perfectly shaped ass in Jared’s direction, head down, almost submissive. 

“Make your pleasure my pleasure,” he whispers, only Jared seems to hear it. 

Men and women formed a crescent around them now, the opening pointing to the dying fire. Jared licks his lips while he squeezes a very lavish amount of oil in his hand. He doesn’t cover his cock yet, he will help Jensen first. He enters him with one finger and Jensen bucks away first, in surprise but then lowers himself on the finger, starts fucking himself with it. His broken and sweet moans make Jared’s blood boil and also the participants around them start jerking harder. One hand gesture from Jared, and his followers stop. They shouldn’t finish before Jensen does, that’s just and right. 

“More,” Jensen demands, looking behind him with big teary eyes. His pupils are tiny and the iris of a thick and rich green. Jared gives him more. Jensen literally sucks the second finger in and when Jared starts massaging his prostate from outside with his thumb, Jensen cries out, stretching more and swallowing Jared’s long fingers to the root. He gasps tiny “oh god’s” and “fuck’s”. And then Jared isn’t able to hold the urge back and test if Jensen really is what Jared needs. Someone who fits him. He covers his long member with a lot of oil and also spreads generous amounts around Jensen’s anus.

“You think you’re ready, yeah?”

Jensen nods. “Positive.”

He even grabs his buttcheeks and pulls them apart, Jared has perfect sight of his slightly mouthing, dilated hole and all he has to do… He gulps violently, but then places his tip on Jensen’s entrance and sloooowly pushes in. Inch for inch. Jensen has to let go of his buttcheeks and his hands press on Jared’s hips.

“Holy… sh…”, Jensen huffs, “Is swearing even allowed?”

“Too much?”

“It’s a lot, but not too much… fuck…” 

Jensen breathes heavily but slowly, as slowly as Jared goes, his hands don’t push against him anymore and Jared can slide in even deeper. He’s amazed by how Jensen’s hole just swallows him, inch by delicious inch. He’s tight, extremely tight, thanks to the thick oily lube he won’t be hurt. Quite the opposite. Jared pushes in, freezes and rubs over Jensen’s back, soothing him. Jensen doesn’t need that much soothing though, after a few seconds of Jared holding perfectly still and just twothree inches away from going inside all the way he sinks against Jared’s hips, taking him fully with a low, needy moan that seems to last an eternity. 

“Please… move…” he moans, while Jared still holds Jensen’s hips and stares. Just stares in awe.

He really did it.

Jared can’t believe it’s really happening, that he feels so close to someone, again, finally, after such a long time. As he doesn’t start moving, Jensen rolls his hips back and forth, his back stretches and his hands clawing in the blanket. He just fucks himself on Jared’s member, doesn’t wait any longer and the moans he utters are - there is no other word -- they’re downright vulgar. It shows how much he lets go and it washes Jared away, his fingertips dig into Jensen’s hips as he meets his recruit’s pace. Now Jensen cries out, the words and moans just drop from his lips, he wants more, and Jared can feel how greedy he is. 

The audience around them is a choir of pleasure sounds, each of them takes Jared up so high he feels like he’s more than drunk. More than high. He feels like he’s elevating.

“Jared… Harder!” 

Jared fucks him harder. Jensen around him stretches and clenches like he wants to milk him dry, make him cum, but not now. It’s too good to let it end too early, he’s been starved too long and he wants to enjoy every second of fucking this angelic but oh so slutty adept. No one ever met his pace, wanted to be fucked harder and harder, no one asked to be sore, but Jensen does.

His moans are so loud his voice breaks and trails off, chokes on his own sounds. Jared loses it at this point, he grips in Jensen’s glossy hair and pulls him on his knees, closer to his body. Pounding his ass now makes beautiful wet sounds. Jensen leans on Jared’s chest and reaches for the prophet’s ass to push him deeper. And deeper.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”Jared growls, his hand in Jensen’s hair is pulling stronger, the other on Jensen’s hip holds him steady. “Want every inch of me?”

Jensen nods, sobbing. “Yes, never been fucked so good… just how I need --” He can’t even finish the sentence, Jared’s mighty deep thrusts make his voice fade into a cry. “Oh, God!”

Jared needs to slow down just for a bit, give himself time to breathe and hold back the orgasm that’s building up. He’ll shoot a massive load for sure, he wants it to be worth it. He bites Jensen’s neck and feels the violent shudder. They cling onto each other, hands in hair, fingernails scratching and leaving red trails. 

“No, no, don’t stop now… I’m so close,” Jensen huffs, turns his head to Jared, their lips meet and Jared kisses him until both are too breathless, too close to be gentle or patient. 

When Jared picks up his pace again it’s only a matter of a few seconds until Jensen cries out and sinks back on all fours, hiding his face in the blanket. He doesn’t have to touch himself to cum, with a loud and guttural sound he spills. And spills. It’s such a mindblowing orgasm. Everything about it is perfect. Jensen’s moans, how he pulls out handfuls of grass. His clenching asshole around Jared. The amount of cum he splatters on the sheets. Jared bends forward, pulls Jensen’s face up and turns it to the crowd.

“Let them look at you,” he hisses, “share the love.”

And then Jared cums, grunting and thrusting as deep as he can. His cock pumps and pumps masses. He’s never come so hard, so long, so satisfying. For a couple of seconds he doesn’t know anymore where he ends and Jensen begins, that’s how good and intimate it feels. Jensen’s tightness squeezes him tight and makes it impossible to move or pull out. 

Jared collapses on Jensen’s back. He’s dizzy. He needs a moment.

Around them the noises turn from moans to grunts. Heavy breathing. Jared gestures to the watchers to stop jerking. He wants to have Jensen for himself for another moment when he pulls out. Jensen winces underneath him but his face just shows blissful exhaustion. Jared loves to watch his cum pouring out his partner’s holes and it’s no different tonight. Not after this divine intervention. Not after he’s been blessed with such a partner. 

It’s a lot. Jensen turns his head to Jared, his face puffy and red, strands of wet blonde hair on his forehead. And now there’s the hint of a smirk. 

“Did I do well?” he asks.

“I think you know…” Jared replies.

His hand strokes Jensen’s still half hard cock and Jensen moans. So sensitive. Next time, Jared might return the favor and suck that pretty cock.

“Your brothers and sisters want to show you how much they enjoyed watching you.”

Jensen looks around, then back to Jared.

Now the smirk is undeniable. 

“Let ‘em come.”

Jared gets up, his muscular body beaming in the light of the moon and embers of the fire. He feels like he’s about to rise above anything and anyone. This union has given him the deepest peace he could ever feel. He still feels painfully hard and when he looks down he still is. His glossy cock perks up, but he won’t take Jensen a second time and risk really tearing him apart. 

Jensen is on his knees, arms stretched forward like a satisfied lioness, sticking out his freshly bred ass to the audience.

“Children. Time to welcome Jensen in your midst.”

Alex approaches Jared to wash him off with a fresh wet cloth and a sponge while the others gather around Jensen. No one touches the recruit, after Jared united with him, but he will be showered in attention and much more.

Two days later, Jensen is still a bit sore. 

He didn’t sleep much on the night of the celebration, he’s been too hyped, too high from the rush of alcohol, adrenaline and sex. Especially the sex. He can still feel Jared’s massive pole in his ass and everytime he gives in to the memory he shudders and feels his white robe tent. 

Everything in this commune is white. The community houses in which the members live, white. The Church, white. Jared’s residence, white. The only thing that seems to be different is the massive wooden chair in which Jared sat during the celebration and watched his followers unify. 

The blankets are white, the towels, the plates. Purity is an important pillar of this group, and everyone who’s not familiar with the customs might argue that collective orgies aren’t really pure, but Jensen knows better already. Purity is based on keeping your body healthy. The diet here isn’t vegan, but the community has their own farm. 120 people need food and water. Most of them live and work here. On the farm where vegetables and fruits are grown seasonally, or they take care of the cattle, pigs and chickens. Others help keep the houses intact. 

Days are warm, the nights are pitchblack, there’s a lake and a river closeby. Women wash the clothes of the community. There is no “mine” and “yours” in the Church. There is only “we” and “us” and “our”. 

Jensen has his own room, because the morning after the orgy, after the morning prayers and morning sports, in the great hall at breakfast, Jared proclaimed that Jensen was indeed heaven sent. Chosen by the Angels. That makes him special enough to have his own room for a while and it helps him acclimate in this environment. Most new members need that. They come from their picket fence life in the suburbs or the pulsing lives of a big city. They had day jobs, night jobs, family, addictions and almost everyone of them has been materially wealthy. 

Everything that keeps them away from living a pure, devoted life with God is taken away here. Jared provides everything they need. 

Some take a week to find their place in the community, some struggle for years. Some pack their bags as soon as they realize that the sense community here also consists of freedom in love, friendships. Children are born in this community and are raised by everyone, not only their genetic parents. No one here claims to own someone or something.

Well.

At least they say so.

Alex’s room is - as it’s appropriate for his position - in Jared’s residence. This morning he decided to cut his shoulder long, honey blond hair and trim his long beard.

Purity doesn’t mean to be shaven clean or have short hair. Purity comes from the heart, free will and the ability to love. Alex doubts he is quite pure at the moment. The community is free of the toxicity of a material life - in the community, you don’t aspire to climb up ranks. There are simply only three ranks. The community, Alex, Jared. Jared is their natural leader, it is supposed to be like that. Alex is chosen. Alex is confident.

He was. His heart is full of love for the cause and for Jared. 

Until a few nights before he looked in the mirror every morning and smiled at his reflection. Because the reflection showed him a confident young man of faith. Full of love, not bound but blessed with free will. 

Then, his heart started to hurt. 

Now he hates his blue eyes, he hates his long hair, he hates the beard. He hates that he isn’t able to provide Jared the one thing he ached for.

It feels like an inconsistency of Jared’s teachings. Or Alex just isn’t at the point of enlightenment he always thought he was. He finds the fault in himself rather than Jared. But he likes it most thinking that it’s Jensen’s fault.

Jensen with the dazzling green eyes that tantalize Alex. And his damn ability to merge with Jared. Something no one in the community ever could provide. 

Alex hates that someone other than him satisfies Jared in any way.

When he looks in the mirror he sees the man who came here all these years ago when Jared’s predecessor was still alive. The man who crashed here after drugs and sex addiction ruined his life.

Growth is something that never stops. And any day you don’t work through your struggles puts you one step further away from divinity and back into the life of materiality and toxicity.

Jared mustn’t know.

Alex stares blankly in the mirror while he shaves his beard off. Completely.

It takes a few days generally for the community to calm down after such a night. Jared knows that. He feels sore himself, but in a good, satisfying way. His community is thriving, they have new members. Fresh blood. The prayers are inspiring. Jared insists on holding the divine services all by himself. These days he’s beaming with love and the rich and satisfying feeling of being connected. This is Jensen’s merit. His sensuality, his sexual aura, everything about him reminds Jared of the Archangel Michael, the fiery son of God who guarded Eden. Everything about Jensen seems to set Jared on fire. And not only Jared. The others feel it too. The women, the men, everyone stares when he passes. It takes Jared a lot of introspection, prayer and exercise to not just drag him back in his bed. Jared is known for being considerate, kind, and balanced. He leads these people on their path to God and divinity, he is their idol. The true Vicar of the Holy Father. Preferring Jensen in his first month here would weaken his own strong will. He’s sure this man is sent by his Father to heal his hurts, but he needs to care for his community first. 

Jared must not be selfish. He obeys the Lord and he will follow His guidance wherever it may take him. When he knows that his community is safe. 

After morning’s prayer and exercise Jared retreats to the communal bath. Alex prepared everything like always. He’s shaven clean and his hair is way shorter than before. While Jared sinks in the hot tub, Alex hesitates to accompany him. He looks bitter. Some of the old worry lines reappeared. Jared makes an inviting gesture.

“Come in, Alex.”

Today, Jared notices, it sounds like more than an order. 

Alex first shakes his head, but then looks up and his face softens. The lines disappear. He undresses and joins Jared for a bit.

Jared pulls him on his lap, it’s unusual for Alex to be physically distant. He recognizes his assistant has a razor cut on his chin. He runs his thumb just right under it and Alex inhales sharply.

“Why did you shave your beard?” he asks.

Alex looks away, bites his lip. His tooth gap is adorable. 

“I didn’t like it anymore.”

Jared frowns. 

“Do you doubt yourself?”

A scoff. Jared knows he just hit a nerve. Alex never scoffs at him.

“It’s just hair,” he replies. Now he even sounds a bit defiant. 

“Alexandros.”

Alex stiffens. Jared has a habit of calling him by his full name when he fucks up, just like a mother would.

Jared cups his face and looks straight in those bright blue eyes and he sees the vulnerable boy that Alex still is. His progress is phenomenal, but part of him will always stay in the darkness he escaped. 

Alex writhes but doesn’t honestly struggle against him. 

“Your looks are not important. Be careful with your heart.”

A faint nod. Jared kisses his forehead, then his lips. Suddenly no writhing, no defiance, no stubborn behavior. Alex is pliant. Good.

“I have to go”, Alex mumbles, “I have to prepare our departure to Seattle… Our original flight was cancelled…” 

Jared nods. Actually he has no desire to attend this event, but as the leader of this religious community, he has to fulfill some duties. Like going to charity events. It’s not that he hates charity, quite the contrary, as a son of God, it’s his pleasure and deepest wish to make the world a better place, but he hates the whole attention. He hates being compared to apocalypse cults or worse. His teachings are as pure as they can get under given pretenses and the struggle of humanity to overcome the Great Tribulation. 

Alex knows. “I know you don’t want to go. But I will make it worth the trip.”

“You always do.”

Alex gets up with slightly shaky legs and a very impressive erection. When he jumps back in his clothes he even turns away. Suddenly he is so shy. When they’re back from Seattle, Jared will have to hold some very intense prayer and service sessions with Alex. He seems in need of healing. And that’s what Jared was chosen for. Provide for people like Alex.

Alex isn’t gone for five minutes when Jared hears a shuffling behind him.

“Did you forget something, Alexandros?”

Someone’s clearing their throat and it’s not Alex. When Jared turns around he sees Jensen standing in the entrance, blushing and looking at his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… umm, am I disturbing you?” 

Jared’s face lights up and he turns around fully, crossing his arms on the brim of the pool. Jensen is in his white robe, bread crumbs along his collar. He probably just ate breakfast. His hair is messy. 

“Not at all,” Jared replies, “usually, I don’t have guests when I bathe but you’re welcome to join today. You’re new, you can’t know.”

Jensen frowns. “Alex doesn’t count as a guest?”

“No. He is wherever I am, unless he doesn’t want to be.”

Now Jensen’s eyes glow. 

“Like now?”

Jared grins. 

“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” he asks.

Jensen stands there, looking at him like he’s about to say ‘yes’, but ultimately doesn’t. 

Jared gestures. “Come in already.” 

Ruffling of clothes tells him that his recruit followed his wish and now gets undressed. A moment later Jensen slides in the water beside Jared, about an arm’s length away. His cheeks turn pink.

“Are you well?”Jared asks, just as the caretaker of his people, he is always worried about them. Always ready to provide care if needed or wanted. 

Jensen’s teint turns even brighter. Ah. The orgy. It was surely his first time.

“I mean, I think I got a little rough with you there,” the leader admits.

Jensen shakes his head a little, a shy smile and a dreamy gaze show that Jensen might indeed be well. It would be reassuring to hear it though.

“No, no, it wasn’t rough at all but I would lie if I said I don’t still feel you inside me. It was a very world-shaking experience.”

“Uh-huh,” Jared replies, “it was.”

The memory alone makes Jared’s body fill with a need to do it again. Just right here. His pliant and slick body, how hot and tight and damn, how responsive and eager he was to take his cock. And that he succeeded!

Jensen turns to him, comes a little closer to get in touch, physically and Jared is very fond of the idea to have him close. Without a word, Jensen’s hand under the water’s surface, lays a hand on Jared’s thigh. Very close to his member. Flaccid. Yet. And still very big. Jared knows he’s gifted with this large cock and people who can take it, they won’t want anything else after they’ve tried it.

“I wondered, why, umm, everyone treats me like I’m super special, you do too…” Jensen’s eyes are fixated on the tiny waves his hand causes when he strokes along Jared’s thigh. “What makes me special?”

That is a very interesting question and Jared needs some time to think about it. Take deep breaths. It also shows that his new member has not ingrained all of the lore of the Church of Grace. That’s normal. No one knows it by heart after joining so recently. 

“Being special is a gift from the Lord, my Father. Everyone is special in their unique way. Take Alex. He’s devoted and tough, loyal and very good at organizing things. Ruth and Judith, you probably crossed their paths already, they’re the best cooks I’ve ever been blessed to taste. Also they are very skilled in sculpting. Everyone is special. Some special things seem to be common, like, so many people on this Earth are talented cooks, tailors, musicians, yogis. And you, you are special, because you give me a feeling of unity in such a primal way, it may seem succinct or superficial. What is it worth, being able to take me? It might not be special to others, but to me this is a thing that brings me peace. And this peace, I can multiply, share it with my people. And by the Lord, it’s not only your physical perks. The way your brothers and sisters here look at you. Some are jealous, but most see in you the most important addition to the community in years. You have a spark in you and you will do great things for the Church. I’m sure of it.”

Jensen stares and Jared notices the slight squint of his deep green eyes. His utter beauty is a gift to humanity already. He radiates purity. If he knows that?

“Is that understandable for you?” Jared asks. He lays a hand in Jensen’s neck and gently squeezes. Pulls him closer. Just an inch but it’s enough to feel Jensen way better and catch his vibes. 

“Yes, it is,” Jensen says, “I’m glad this community welcomed me, I’m glad I met you.”

Now he wraps his hand around Jared’s shaft, which is still too much and he won’t be able to embrace it completely. 

“I was worried, I am worried, it will be the only time to be close to you.”

“You will be close to me every day. At the service, at the monthly celebration. We share everything here.”

“But, can I be alone with you, just like now?” Jensen huffs, his grip tightens. Jared is just a man, his body reacts and he grows hard, so big that the tip would break the water surface now if Jensen let go. 

“I’m a man of my people, I will not deny you. To be honest, yes, I invite you to be with me.”

It would be so easy to lift Jensen up and let him sink down on his cock. It would be amazing to feel him right now. But he is still a little sore. Complete physical unity has to wait. 

“Jared…” A sigh. “What you made me feel that night… I think I felt closer to my true self than ever.”

“I’m glad this is helping you. There will be a lot of occasions for you to discover your deepest self, your fears, your worries… Everything will come to light and I know, you will overcome, you will shine and rise above your plain human being.”

Jensen’s hand moves now. He knows how to touch a man, strictly physical. It's a mechanical reaction after all, but when Jared looks deep into these green eyes he discovers his own need and how much he suffered without a mate that would be close to him. 

“Tell me, how do you like it… I feel it, I need it… you need it…?”

“I long for it.”

Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s to guide him with the strokes.

He wants it to build up slowly, and his hand on Jensen’s neck holds him steady, whispering his instructions to keep eye contact, when to slow down and when to get faster. And Jensen is all in with it, he’s passionate, his tiny moans and curses, just from seeing Jared, make it extra hot. Actually Jared doesn’t need to climax here, because the mere anticipation of his partner is more than satisfying. They sink in a kiss when Jared’s instructions turn into a breathless staccato of ‘yes like that’s. He’s noisy when he comes and jerks in Jensen’s hand, forceful first but rapidly turning lazy and soft. 

“Teach me more,” Jensen whispers, his face burning red, making his freckles pop even more.

Jared's head sinks on Jensen’s chest. 

“About what?”

“About, what you like, how you like it… how we… connect… unify… Physically, I know… I can do that,” Jensen bites his lip.

“But you don’t know how it works spiritually?”Jared asks, placing a kiss on Jensen’s freckled shoulder. 

“Is that a stupid question?”

A headshake. Why should it be? But Jared knows, Jensen is insecure, he longs for answers and guidance. 

“Believe me, you didn’t ask a stupid question so far. You crave unity?”

Jensen nods.

“Just like you do.”

“I would love to show you more of it. But I will have to go to a congress in Seattle in three days. Alex and I will be gone and you’ll be on your own for a couple of days,” Jared replies. There is indeed some longing in his voice. 

“Oh, that is… it will be long and I’m new, I…”

Jared clicks his tongue while he combs Jensen’s hair. “You don’t have to worry, everyone will take care of you. They will do what I’d do. You will be shown around.”

Jensen shakes his head. His muscles stiffen just lightly.

“That’s not my worry, but- I wish I could be with you.”

This causes Jared’s eyebrows to raise. He wants to be with Jensen, too. Show him the world that Jared lives in and help with the settling. It’s hard to find a place in a community. Jared also fears (and hopes) that Jensen found a way in his heart.

“You are with me. And you will be. You belong to the community now.”

Jensen winds.

“I mean… could you… I would like to go to Seattle. With you…”

“And Alex,” Jared corrects.

“And Alex,” Jensen confirms.

There is no reason to say ‘no’, but there is also no reason to say ‘yes’ that is justifiable. Jensen is new. But he’s shown commitment and he wants to learn. They would bond. Jared wants it. Badly.

“Will it put your heart at ease when I say yes?”

Jared smiles and it’s a knowing one. Jensen smiles. He also knows. 

“Yes, it would.”

The way Jensen smiles and blushes is cute, maybe a little staged. Jared’s not an idiot, he knows that Jensen is wooing him. Trying to impress. Wants to appeal. He already does, there is no need to be overly pliant. Jared enjoys the attention though, who would judge him for it? He presses a kiss on Jensen’s lips and their hug turns closer, just like the last minutes of touching didn’t exist. Jared wouldn’t complain about that, either. 

“Thank you,” he utters before he can think it through.

“For what?”

Jared squeezes Jensen’s growing cock. 

“For giving me - peace.”

Peace is not the only thing Jared wants to thank his disciple for, but Jensen’s soft moan drowns any further thoughts. He wants to merge. Now. He doesn’t want to wait. Not for them to be in his room or Jensen’s. Just take him here.

Alex listens to the quiet conversation that turns into moans and splashing, Jared’s deep and ground shaking grunts. He would be a big fat liar if he claimed to be untouched by it, even Jensen’s soft noises make him rock hard. But what he feels in his heart and what he feels in his body, these two things diverge wildly from each other. He shoves a hand in his pants and hates himself for it. But who he hates more is Jensen. He will take Jared away from him. 

That mustn’t happen.

Alex has to do something about it. Soon.

[sunburstbacchae]

People of Divine Inspiration

Retelling of Aesop’s Fable 517 by KJ Denisen

Many have asked over the centuries why Queer people exist, lots of cultures having different myths on the topic, and many are similarly shocked to hear an answer has been told in ancient Greek folklore. They didn’t have all the words for trans and gay people, but the fabulist Aesop still managed to spin a tale about the origins of their existence. While some mythologies have stories of two-spirit people and some have stories Mesopotamian heroes, the Hellenics have the myth of Prometheus & Dionysos.

Long ago, during the new age of humanity and from the clay of Gaia the Great Mother Earth, the latest designs of the human body were being sculpted by the Titan Prometheus, titan of forethought and crafty console. Many ages had been led by the design of Prometheus, from the last age which ended in the great flood, to the age of women with the creation of Pandora, to the very first age of men that ended with him stealing fire from Olympus to save humanity from the cold and wild. Such lengths he goes for humanity have gotten him in a bit of trouble with the Theoi. After stealing the hearth-fire for many years he was shackled to Mount Kaukasos by King Zeus, subject to having his liver torn out each morning by a hawk only to have it grow back again in the night for the cycle to continue. He was liberated from his fate by the hero Herakles and now lives his life with a shackle around his ankle, carrying a piece of that mountain so Zeus could boast he’s still shackled to it to this day. Even now, dragging that stone with him, Prometheus still sculpts humanity, age by age, for the project of humanity and our lives thereof is still and forever dearest to his heart.

The newest age he intended to make with practicality in mind, having become wise by the three ages that proceeded. The first age of humanity created creatures with all the parts they needed; four legs, four arms, two heads and two sets of genitals. Before the age of women these people were split in half, creating beings with one or two of each part that now wander around spending their life trying to reconnect to their other half. Prometheus intended to make reconnection easy and for both spirits to compliment one another nicely. Men would have the phallus, the bodies for action and a heart for women while the women had the yonic, the minds for planning and a heart for men. The spirit of all was the same to facilitate this desire, an attraction to complementary opposites. This would create pairs that not only helped the other survive but fulfilled and enabled the humans to thrive with their other half. Such specific design was a labor of love, but a labor nonetheless. Never before had Prometheus put so much time and attention to detail into a project of his and he trekked restlessly to its completion.

Such a tired fate, however, was never unnoticed by Dionysos, the great Olympian of wine, theater, divine madness and festivities. Dionysos was a son of one of Prometheus’ very creations, the mortal princess Semele. He ascended from demigod to godhood like his half brother Herakles, though the two are rather opposites in persona with Herakles ascending to divine status through the pursuit of virtue and Dionysos ascending because he took rules as a light suggestion. He was worshipped by humanity, befriended by daemons & gods alike not only as the blurrer of lines, but for being the soother of worries, the liberator from stress and my goodness did it seem to him like Prometheus needed to be liberated from his workload. To a being older than the Olympian rule, the very youngest of the Olympians called to him.

“Great Prometheus, you’re going to keel over if you don’t take a break from your work. How long has this project been going on? You create humans and release them as they are made, but have trekked forward so long the new age of men has been going on for centuries. Your creations have had children, their children have had children. Europa has won the heart of Zeus and founded continents. Herakles has risen and fallen and ascended to Olympus. One of your earliest creations was the very woman Semele who gave birth to me and I’ve been wreaking havoc and shaking up the lives of mortals and spirits so long I hardly remember my own age! If you’re going to continue for even a fraction of this frankly ridiculous amount of time, the least you can do is allow me to show my gratitude for creating my wonderful mother and the many mortal women and men I’ve pursued romantically. Come now, put down your sculpting tools and rest your aching hands to have dinner with me. I’ve many fountains of wine to help ease that tension in your shoulders and mind and banquets to go with it from the harvest of lovely Demeter.”

Prometheus was shocked at the bold young Olympian and his invitation; most simply left him to his work thankless.

“Has it really been so long? My hands seem calloused and arms almost numb, yet unsure what to make of motions that do no work. Perhaps you’re right, little Olympian. I still have a long way to go until I’m complete, but I keep trying to make the perfect human, keep thinking the right one will be just after this load, but still there’s always something to improve upon. It feels like I’m stuck in a loop, so focused on making it perfect I just can’t finish it. Perhaps a break and some wine will clear my head. Maybe then the exact piece I’m missing will come to me, if only I relax and let it come. Lead the way, Dionysos.”

Dionysos led Prometheus away and brought him to one of the many banquets the cult of the Eleusinian Mysteries set forth in honor of his friend, Demeter, and Kore-Persephone, Dionysos’s mother of a past life. Trailed on by his retune of Maenad Nymphs and lustful Satyrs, accompanied by the god Pan and Titaness Rhea, gods of the wild nature, Dionysos became a good host to Prometheus, crowned him in wreaths of ivy and gifted all the wine and fresh food one could ask for. The band of Bacchae danced and sang of riots and revels until Helios the sun peeked over the horizon and it was time for Theoi to be sent back to their duties. After the party, Prometheus came home on an unsteady foot from all the wine he had drunk, giggling to jokes he had told himself and scarcely trying to remove the ivy still wound up in his hair.

As much as the night still lingered, he was still much more of a workaholic than an alcoholic and attempted to get back to work straight away after coming home. Unsteadily and with broad strokes he continued his work with the humans, growing increasingly frustrated that his hands refused to cooperate with where his eyes wanted them to go, knocking over glaze and brushes, staining blueprints and notes willy-nilly, bringing the poor titan to such frustration he was afraid he was going to weep.

At some point in his haze, he accidentally put a phallus on one of the women he created. When he caught this, he stopped and stared for a moment and found it so amusing he began mixing up the parts of all the humans he was working on. Women with phalluses and men with yonis and even some unlabeled bodies with either or both. Men with the gentle mind of wise Athena, women with the active mind of Ares and some with both or neither. The gentle hearts modeled after Aphrodite mixed up every which way so some had hearts for men, some for women, some for both. Some had more than one heart within them and found themselves to have too much love for just one person and some with blank hearts unable to be struck by the bow of Eros at all. In such a chaotic stupor he didn’t have the forethought he usually would to wait until he sobered up and brought these humans to life immediately, sending them off into the world. Still laughing, face red, he collapsed over his desk into a strange yet peaceful slumber.

When he awoke and saw the mess over his desk he recoiled and dread whatever he had done the night before. Going out to see his creations he found the batch of mixed-up humans and panicked, knowing he had just brought to life a bit of a chaotic mess and worried how well they’d fare in the world. As he lamented his fate, Dionysos reappeared, coming to check on his most likely hungover new friend and saw what he was fretting over. Dionysos’ eyes grew starry for these interesting humans and the still distraught (and now a little confused) Prometheus explained what happened the night before, lamenting that he may have to take them apart and fix them all. Dionysos stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh please Prometheus don’t take them apart! These humans of my divine inspiration are such delightful creatures, all so different and intriguing, they may all be let into my retune. Those with minds so different they can bend the fate of people and make room for new grounds in society. Those with hearts so full they match my Polyamrous spirit or so unmarked as to have more room for family and friends. As for those mismatched between the legs, they will Patroned by me especially for I remember being raised in the guise of a girl under one of my many foster mothers, Ino. Those women in the bodies of men, those men in the bodies of women, and those of either or neither I will guide to let humanity delight in the act of creating themselves. The way we grow grapes and not wine, the way we gift milk and not cheese, I will show them how to mix themselves, change themselves and even tear themselves apart to be put back together a more true version of their soul. I have seen them, and soon they will see me.”

Prometheus found inspiration in the young Theoi’s words. Perhaps he’d been so caught up in making them perfect he hadn't been able to accept them as they were. With this in mind he completed the last and biggest group of humans. All spirits still call for their complementary, but now each in ways the other cannot. Every pair or group brought together by Aphrodite now had a unique relationship, more than the sum of its parts. Pairs of smart and strong men, pairs of yonic and phallic women, groups of balanced hearts and souls and single humans complete within themselves. Even within that batch creating the strong and cunning woman Ariadne, who’d go on to wed Dionysos and ascend to the status of goddess by his side. While Prometheus made the simple pieces of common society, it was always Dionysos who specialized in thinking & creating outside the box.

[lotus0kid]

OUaT: Finding Fate

((For the 2020 Rumbelle Secret Santa, using @dorkone's prompt "castle flirting vs. storybrooke flirting”. Hope you like it!))

Regina racks up enemies like it’s the latest fashion.  At least she doesn’t task Rumpelstiltskin with conjuring her wardrobe as well as resolving her current vendetta.  Someday he’ll enjoy making her understand that she was never more than a means to an end for him.  Until then, he sits at his wheel and ponders how to make things difficult for a certain mermaid.

He nearly jumps off his stool when the doors to the hall fly open and a voice that has no business sounding so cheerful within the gloom of the Dark Castle rings out, “I did it!” Belle strides straight for him, a broad smile on her face and a silver platter balanced on her palm.  “I knew I’d get it eventually.  I wasn’t sifting the flour enough.  Thank the gods I figured it out- this batch is the last of the almond stuff!”

As she circles around to stand at his side Rumpelstiltskin catches the scent of something baked and… minty?  He stops the wheel and inquires, “What strange act have you committed in the kitchens now?”

Belle rolls her eyes at him, “If you wanted a cook you should’ve dealt for one.  But you got me, and I’ve just made a breakthrough in my culinary practice.  Here, try one.”

The platter swings toward him, revealing a number of bite-sized macarons tinted an alarming green shade.  The smell isn’t actually bad, now that he’s a had a minute to get used to it, but he curls a lip anyway.  “No thank you, dearie.  I have no need for… whatever this is.”

“‘Whatever this is’ is a delicacy from my village.  We made them every midwinter.  I thought I’d never get to have them again, but with a little experimentation and perseverance, you can hardly even taste the difference!”

Rumpelstiltskin blinks up at her, then returns his attention to the wheel.  “Right, well, congratulations then.”

Belle lets out a soft snort of indignation before saying, “Won’t you try one?  Here, I’ll go first.”  She picks up one of her creations and pops the whole thing in her mouth.  The instant her pink lips close on it her eyes slip shut and she moans in pleasure.

Rumpelstiltskin locks his gaze on the wood grain of his wheel, the only thing that might save him from the in all ways unwelcome heat rushing through his body.  This is made more difficult when something green bobs into the lower right corner of his vision.

“O-pen u-up…” Belle sing-songs as he resists the urge to lean into the fresh, bright scent of the treat. When did I summon mint oil to the cupboard?  “You know food tastes better when it’s shared, just try one.”

In this second, he snatches for his seer’s sight in hopes of some guidance, receiving silence in response. His own imagination offers the possibility of slapping her hand away- perhaps throw her totally off balance and send the lovely tray of treats clattering to the floor.  The thought of the cold glare she would cast on his back sends a chill through him.  Perhaps not. So, he could go the other way. Do as told, and open up, let her set the macaron on his tongue.  He could even close his lips quickly enough to catch her fingertips, and taste her skin along with the delicate crunch and zing of mint.  

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head to clear these imaginings- one far too cold, the other far too hot. Belle’s hand retreats.  “All right, never mind then,” she begins, but he reaches out and cups his palm under hers, taking the macaron with his other hand and bringing it to his mouth.

He grinds through it with brisk efficiency.  “A triumph, dearie,” he announces after swallowing, “Well done.”

She smiles, nods.  “Thank you.  It’s good to know I can feed you something.  I don’t care what you say about being sustained by magic, it’s just not healthy to not eat.”

The briefest accidental glance in Belle’s direction reveals a look of warm concern beaming down on him and in that instant a thick, heavy sob swells up in Rumpelstiltskin’s chest, tightens his throat, and makes his eyes burn.  She’s right.  He lets the magic feed him, and it feeds on him in turn.  Sometimes he must call up a gallery of memories of Bae in order to keep the darkness from consuming him.  Once or twice, he’s had trouble recalling the exact shape of his son’s face, which causes frigid fear to blast through him.

Remembering that fear, joined with the horrific likelihood that he might start blubbering in front of Belle, drives him to his feet, and he utters pardons a second before whisking himself off to his tower.

Belle is of course the problem, he decides while pacing stolidly and aimlessly and sighing away the ache in his chest.  He swore an oath to love no one as long as Bae is lost to him.  But she’s here, and she is…  That’s not to say he actually…  It’s his old spinner’s heart, the foolish thing.  It still hasn’t learned- the people he loves, they leave.  He needs to show it what comes of entertaining silly little hopes.  He must look ahead, and see how Belle will free herself from him.  He’ll be calm then.

This is easier said than done.  As proven moments ago in the hall, the seer’s sight is finnicky at best, coming and going as it pleases.  And when he can grab hold of it, it sometimes rattles through more possibilities than Rumpelstiltskin’s mostly human mind can comprehend.  But perhaps he can channel it, focus it in one direction.  Indeed, his focus is clear- it’s Belle’s future he seeks.

He shuts his eyes and extends his awareness to find her walking back to the kitchens, and so takes the opportunity to transport himself into her room and pluck a strand of hair from her pillow.  This he carries back to his tower, then flicks through a dense tome of spells on a desk until he comes to a powerful divination spell.  With his eyes screwed shut as he mutters the words that will drag his seer’s sight to heel, he does not notice a hair from his own head come loose and drift down to join Belle’s in his palm.  But as unremarkable days of caretaker duties unspool within his mind, a mysterious golden haze drifts through, and he feels time speed up to a blur.

He tries to haul back on imaginary reins- he has no interest in zooming all the way to Belle’s eventual death.  Slowly his awareness settles on one point in the future.

The first surprise is that he isn’t a ghostly spectator in this random moment to come.  He feels himself present in the space.  Looking down, he finds himself wearing, not his usual silk and leather, but rather loose-fitting wool trousers matched with a jacket and a shirt fastened by a simple row of buttons.  His only silk is a thin strip tied around his neck, discretely folded under the shirt collar.

His second surprise are his hands.  They appear as those of an ordinary man, a state which is anything but ordinary.  His right wraps comfortably around a gold-handled cane- in this peculiar vision he’s aware of his maimed ankle as a distant stiffness.  His left hand holds the bow and neck of a violin.  He doesn’t have much time to study the instrument before the sounds of an opening door and a ringing bell come from beyond a curtain hanging in the doorway of the room he occupies, which appears to be the storage space of a small shop of curiosities.

After a moment, the curtain is pulled back to admit his third and biggest surprise- Belle, carrying what appears to be a sack made of paper and wearing a skirt far shorter than anything Rumpelstiltskin’s ever seen on a woman of her station.  She doesn’t seem at all bothered by this, smiling wide as her eyes fall to the violin.  “Unearth something interesting?” she asks before setting down the sack on a small table nearby.  “You might want to wait until after lunch to tell me about it.  Ruby said Madame Mayor was snapping at everyone when she got coffee this morning, so we may not have long to eat.”

None of that makes sense to Rumpelstiltskin- or, at least, the Rumpelstiltskin of the present.  The Rumpelstiltskin to come replies with ease while his past counterpart observes from within, “If she requires another lesson in patience, I’m happy to provide it.  Come have a look at this.”

She comes to stand before him as he holds out the violin.  Its body is decorated with wood inlays depicting two people in profile with their arms outstretched.  Magic curls away from their hands, meeting at the strings.  “Lovely.  And powerful, I suppose?” she inquires with a raised brow.

“Versatile, more than anything.  Play a certain tune, achieve a certain magical effect, assuming you play well. Shall I?”  Rumpelstiltskin lets the cane fall against his hip and transfers the bow to his right hand, setting it on the strings but pausing there with his gaze on Belle.

She nibbles at her lower lip, but soon says with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, “Why not?”

“Very well,” Rumpelstiltskin says with a grin of his own.  He closes his eyes and searches the enchantments laid upon the violin, and finds something that might actually be familiar.  An old tune his Aunt Iph used to play for Aunt Im.  The melody slowly emerges as he draws the bow along the strings. 

It’s not long before he hears a soft gasp and then a bright giggle.  Belle’s hands fall on his shoulders and he opens his eyes to take her in as she floats about an arm’s length off the floor.  Light shining through a nearby window gleams every part of her it touches.  He maintains the tempo and volume of the song, which keeps her from drifting any higher. After a moment’s uncertainty, she lifts her hands, swaying and bobbing slightly to the beat, turning a slow circle in the air.  Rumpelstiltskin can’t say when he’s seen anything more beautiful, and his heart melts with love.

When she faces him again her hands return to his shoulders.  Beaming down on him, she murmurs, “That’s the tragedy of musicians- they don’t get to dance.”

Her brow furrows slightly and her hold on him tightens, and he actually feels the magic he’s emitting flow through her back into him, settling in his feet as a lightness that almost tickles.  Then he’s rising, rising up to meet her.  Belle’s arms slide around his neck as the distance continues to close between them.  Her lips brush his and in that instant there’s a blinding flash of gold light behind his eyes and the vision snaps out of existence and Rumpelstiltskin drops hard against the desk, knocking the tome of spells into a mess of fluttering pages on the floor.

He grips the edge of the desk, feet and lips still tingling, trying to understand what just happened. Because it can’t be the future, what he saw.  It’s not possible.  Him and Belle, together, really quite unmistakably in love.  True love.  No, it cannot be.  Anyway, in that world it didn’t seem instantly apparent where Bae was, and therefore it was no world Rumpelstiltskin wants to live in.  Not at all.

He crouches down to pick up and turn the tome over and check for damage.  The spell on the page it falls open to is something to do with happy dreams.  Ah, clearly he misread earlier and cast this instead of a divination spell.  Of course.  He should try again.  Ensure he’s on the right page, and figure out what fate of Belle’s will take her away.

He definitely means to.  It’s just that a half-finished project catches his attention, and he forgets all about it.  And when it crosses his mind again, the hint of an old tune he only just remembered wanders through his mind, and he decides he doesn’t need to know.  Not yet.

[sepublic]

Makuta and Rahi

           I really have to speculate about the Makutas’ relationship with Rahi as a whole. It’s never quite defined within canon the purpose of Rahi’s existence in the Matoran Universe, did the Makuta ever consider this, and did it bother them? While Mata Nui created various sapient races with no-doubt clear-cut purposes as part of a larger machine… Did the Makuta ever feel insecurity over the seemingly pointless addition of the Rahi? Did they ever feel extraneous alongside their own creations?

           Especially since I can see a LOT of thought, passion, and creativity going into a lot of Rahi species and their designs, behaviors, the way they interact with one another… There’s a delicate thing that needs to be considered when designing an ecosystem, and that’s Balance. I have to wonder if that’s a concept that the Brotherhood of Makuta held dear to their hearts, especially given how inextricably tied it is to their creations.

           Thinking on it, I can better understand why the Makuta saw taking over the universe as just a mere extension of their pre-existing duties. Their ordained purpose in life had already been to create species who have specific niches, roles, and purposes to play… Mata Nui’s handling of sapient species was no different, right? You had Makuta actively working to improve upon pre-existing creations, so improving upon a fractured universe by uniting it just makes sense! The line is further blurred when one considers the presence of sapient rahi… And in that scenario, I guess it’s not too surprising that the Makuta saw themselves as not all that different from Mata Nui, in the end- Maybe even better.

           The creation of ecosystems also means establishing a cycle of life, which often means designing species with the intended purpose to be devoured and/or killed by other Rahi creations. That sort of lifestyle and mentality, raising and designing entire species for a specific purpose, one they both live and diefor… It can really create a God complex amongst some Makuta. They have literal divine justification in creating a ‘greater system’ where the lives of countless Rahi are meant to be sacrificed and hunted down, all to maintain a cycle of life, a specific balance.

           And considering their roles, the Makuta no doubt got used to the idea of culling populations in order to maintain an order and ‘balance’ within ecosystems. And with the line between Rahi and sapient species blurring… I can see, more and more, how the Makuta became so nonchalant to the idea of killing others for a ‘greater purpose’, and how this casual attitude just led to the Brotherhood becoming more and more desensitized- Until we have people like Icarax or Gorast, who outright revel in carnage. They were encouraged from creation to create species that were meant to die, or species that were meant to kill- Oftentimes both. And as one takes pride in their ability to fulfill this role, some end up taking pride in their creations’ ability to kill, and/or die…

           I’d even argue the Makuta are the Matoran Universe equivalent to the Great Beings, as amoral scientists who saw ruling the world as just a natural extension of their pre-existing duties, and themselves as the best candidates for the job. After all, the Archives Massacre taught them that it was necessary to kill a few, in order to save the rest… Aside from Teridax having always been genuinely terrible, I can see why his role as a Zoologist framed the way he perceived the situation. It wouldn’t have been much different to the nonchalance that comes from killing off an invasive species in droves, all to maintain an ecosystem- Or introducing predators whose sole purpose is to kill those creatures.

           I can also see this desensitization towards individual plights and smaller issues, all for the greater good, really getting to the Makuta. As they spread out following the Matoran Civil War, a lot of Makuta likely had a policy of just letting smaller incidents, chaos, and injustices occur without interference- So long as they didn’t interfere with the grand scheme of things. It’d be like turning a blind eye to a helpless prey being pursued by a hungry pack of predators- Sure, you feel sorry for that prey. But in the end, this is just nature, it’s just how it is… And those predators have to eat, man. It’s like how Zoologists, out in the wild, generally don’t interfere with the stuff that goes on around them, unless this is something threatening an entire ecosystem or species. I can see some Makuta coping with their roles by deciding that it’s downright immature to be caught up in the life of a single Rahi, learning not to be so attached to creatures that just come and go, living and dying, etc.

          I can see how their roles as ecosystem overseers led to the Makuta being discouraged from getting personally involved, nor closely attached to the actual subjects they were working with- And how this practice translated towards their oversight of the Matoran Universe, letting the Toa do the heavy-lifting of protecting society. I can see how they became resentful of the Toa, who were blessed to be but mere heroes and protectors, and received adulation for this; While the Makuta felt unappreciated as beings who had to make difficult choices for the greater good, and often sacrifice the lives of others for this purpose.

          No doubt, many coped by seeing the callous reality of their duties as being noble in its own sense, as is the idea of making the difficult call to kill others for the sake of a larger world. There must’ve been jealousy amongst the Makuta towards the Toa- Who were revered for fulfilling their roles, only for the Makuta to be vilified for doing the same. Don’t blame THEM for their detached manner of overseeing the universe, the Makuta were just doing what the Great Spirit told of them! And that could lead to resentment towards Mata Nui, for even making the Makuta to be like this…

           And when the League of Six Kingdoms fell, following the disappearance of the Barraki? It’s no wonder the Brotherhood of Makuta took over, they applied that same principle of enforcing a balance and functioning system, an interconnected web of interactions, and applied it on a grander yet similar scale- This time to the countless civilizations and sapient species of the Matoran Universe. Given how apathetic Mata Nui was towards maintaining the Matoran Universe, I can see how the Makuta thought themselves as better rulers.

          As Zoologists, they’d be intimately aware of the process of observing populations in their natural habitat, keeping an eye on them, herding them towards a desired path with a guiding hand. The Brotherhood probably saw itself as paying more attention to the goings-on of the Matoran Universe than the Great Spirit, and they were probably right! And it really does seem like common sense, that people who actually know more about the world they’re governing and more closely involved with it, should actually be running it VS some detached, apathetic Great Spirit that can’t even notice the formation of a League or Toa Empire in his own body, so long as it’s not directly affecting him.

           When you’re designing ecosystems, you have to take everything into account- So the Makuta likely saw themselves as more attentive, responsible, and even compassionate towards the Matoran Universe inhabitants, than their own god. Not to mention the idea of constantly manipulating the lives of being they see as lesser, more primitive, and not having the same rights nor intelligence as them… I can see some Makuta mistakenly dismissing the sapient species of the Matoran Universe as no different. Or at least, that same detached, patronizing attitude of treating others without regard to what THEY have to say, because they’re too dumb to consider the bigger picture… I can see how it was applied to beings like the Matoran.

          I can see why the Makuta saw the sapient species of their world, and ‘dumb animals’ as not being all that different… And on the flip-side, this naturally meant that just as Rahi were lesser beings to them, so were the other sapient species in the Matoran Universe. And it just led to the Makuta distancing themselves, creating that sense of detachment and superiority, that mentality that the ends justified the means… Being encouraged to create others with the purpose to kill and/or die, taking pride in one’s ability to create something that causes death, or satisfaction at the demise of something else…

          Not to mention, the diversity of Rahi may have exceeded that of sapient species, which not only influenced the Makutas’ fascination with shapeshifting and their creativity, but likely made them see themselves as being more clever and imaginative creators than Mata Nui himself. Working closely with the Great Spirit also made him seem much less distant to the Makuta, much more approachable… And thus so much more flawed and vulnerable. Especially if they knew exactly how a jeopardized system could easily throw Mata Nui’s health out of balance, how he was outright dependent on the lives of his ‘lesser beings’ and creations, while the Makuta lacked such a weakness and only continued to transcend, evolving past physical bodies.

           The Makuta, most of them, were terrible people. That much is not up for debate, and most of them really DID choose their own horrific paths. People like Gorast and Icarax enjoyed carnage far too much, while Teridax was just awful to an unprecedented degree. But it makes me consider Krika’s sadness, how he sees the Makuta as trapped to their fate, like their decisions to become conquerers and usurpers was merely inevitable… Because in the end, they were made for that. They were made to be Zoologists, and thus predisposed to traits that would better enable their purpose.

           Just as the role of the Toa made them predisposed to being heroic and beloved by others… One could argue that the Makuta were similarly fated in a sense, albeit doomed. They had a completely different purpose than the Toa, and that meant a different mentality, way of life, and handling of others… The Makuta weren’t made to necessarily care for others, and to even disregard the lives of some for a ‘greater good’, for a balance. They were placed in an environment and position that both encouraged and required the attitudes that led to their corruption, so I can see why Krika felt his fate as a traitor to the Great Spirit was inevitable- Because one can’t escape their reason for existence, nor can they escape Destiny. And, it’s funny that Krika becomes so resigned to the idea of being unable to escape one’s inherent nature… Because one can argue that the Makuta DID rise above that, alongside their intended purpose. They weren’t meant to take over the Matoran Universe as conquerers, yet they chose to act contrary to both the plans of the Great Spirit and Great Beings.

           And while Krika saw this lifestyle as a natural extension of their creators’ intended roles for them… There’s still the realization that they DID defy the plans of their makers, to an extent. To the point where they could outright rebel against them- Again, as a result of attitudes implanted by their creators, for the purpose of carrying out their assigned duties. But still… It’s not entirely hopeless, and that’s Krika’s downfall- He just sort of gave up. He was too much of a coward, too resigned, and too apathetic to make a difference. Krika saw one’s environment as dictating a person’s existence and identity, but I can see why- After all, with regards to the idea of evolution and adaptations, for many animals their environment literallyshapes what they are!

          And just as environments can be created by the Great Beings, so too can Rahi be made by the Makuta, with regards to how they’ll function in said environments. Krika lived by the idea that beings are dictated entirely by the circumstances they were made in… If his own Rahi could never rise above their environmental circumstances, then could Krika? Especially since he, too, is a creation of a higher being? Overall, I can see how Krika became so defeatist and cynical; At least until the last second, but by then it was too late. To Krika, beings’ lives are dictated by an unchangeable environment/situation, and the only way to survive is to adapt and conform to that environment, to live by what it dictates- There is no changing one’s situation, you are entirely subject to its whim and power. Perhaps it’s no wonder Krika became so disillusioned.

[eldunea]

Will Magic and the Divine Power of Humanity

there are six elements to altean magic: white, black, fire, water, air and earth. the latter four are known as the physical magics, whereas the former two are called the metaphysical magics. of the magical forms, white is said to be the strongest, followed by black, and then fire/water/air/earth are the next step down and are all equally strong. the most powerful specific form is a white-element practice known as will magic.

will magic is the ability to control the flow of events, particularly historical events, just by thinking of their course. it is the deepest and most powerful of all altean magics, and it is one that for alteans takes centuries to master. it is subtle, never manifesting in huge explosions (fire magic) or ferocious bolts of lightning (air magic), but rather in the ebb and flow of the future’s currents. it’s also distinct from other forms of magic due to--and this is the most important part--the lack of apparent or actual effort from the caster, to the point that it is impossible to prove without an advanced magic tracer whether any magic was used at all. for example, let’s say you have a crush on a guy who you’ve never spoken to and who doesn’t even know you exist. directly going into his mind and mind-controlling him to be your boyfriend is not will magic, it’s psychic abilities (and also a really shitty use of them). but if you merely wish that he becomes your boyfriend and events transpire to bring you together without you doing anything else supernatural, that is will magic.

will magic is extremely powerful once perfected--if there is no equally powerful magic going against it, it basically allows the caster to get anything they want. however, it takes a very monklike mentality to master; in the same way that you need to give your life at oriande to receive the secret of life, you need to accept a complete lack of control in order to harness the secret of complete control. (this explains why lotor has never been able to master will magic--he tries so hard to control everyone and everything around him!) not only that, in the early stages--which could last for a century or more--you won’t be able to get much of anything, because the more improbable your wish is, the stronger the magic you need. going back to the boyfriend example--if he’s a fellow college student, it doesn’t take much magic to chuck the two of you together in the same mandatory class and have the teacher pair you up for the semester’s first project. but if he’s a super-famous celeb who you currently have no real way of meeting, you need to be like a level 100 will magic caster to draw him in and you probably aren’t.

for their one million years of existence, alteans have pondered the depths of will magic--a great universal secret that they have only ever scratched the surface of understanding. they did, however, have some idea of the genes that could make will magic possible. during the first altean empire and their creation of the human race through experimentation, they experimented on inserting will magic genes into us and tweaking them; they used us in the same way that medicines are tested on animals first, as a basis for whether they could enhance their own genetic code to create the potential for will magic that can dominate the universe. but testing early human will magic did not work, since even their most advanced magic tracers at the time proved inadequate to demonstrate whether will magic existed in us--and nobody could agree on any other signs of proof. eventually, we were given up as magicless flops, and abandoned to live on our own. but the alteans’ attempts at creating the ultimate will magic users did not fail. in fact, they succeeded exponentially more than any of the scientists ever dared think.

humans are, in fact, a deeply magical species. we may not be able to cast lightning bolts or create illusions like our altean ancestors, but our will magic is the most powerful in the universe. unlike other magical races, who may spend lifetimes studying the craft and never mastering it, we have the capacity to use it flawlessly from the moment we’re born. thanks to our genetic code, we are the only species in the universe who has managed to bypass the drastic mindset shift of accepting lack of control to get will magic. many humans, no matter who they are or how they think, can use will magic to an extent that poor lotor--and many other alteans--can only dream of.

our will magic outdistances that of even the semidivine alteans. even a newborn human baby has more potential for will magic in their little finger than some adult alteans have in their entire bodies. alteans angst over perfecting this elusive craft for decades and even centuries, but when a human child makes a simple wish upon a star, they’re almost bound to get what they want without even trying. on a broader scale, entire altean peoples have tried and failed to will the course of history to their benefit. but the overthrow of monarchies, the veneration of human rights, the continued survival of so many peoples who were threatened with extermination--that was the power of human will magic at work. we would never have emerged from our feudal chains into a world of democracy and prosperity without our species’ indomitable will to make the world better; the spirit of democracy itself is a product of our hidden divinity, a manifestation of our subconscious understanding that we are truly governed not by emperor’s edicts but by the power invested in each of us. when republics around the world say they rule by the will of the people, they literally rule by the will of the people.

our immense amounts of will magic also explain why our lifespans of 100 years are so short compared to the 1,500-year lives of our predecessors. the sheer amount of divine power within our bodies ages us faster, burning us out like candles--in contrast to the alteans, who have just enough divinity to live extremely long lives. also, ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? that’s will magic at work--if you keep telling yourself the narrative that you can’t do something, you’re magically cursing yourself to never do it. but the most important thing in this post that human will magic entails? it’s the reason why team voltron has won every single fight that was ever depicted in the voltron series. voltron is ridiculously overpowered and more or less unbeatable because it combines an incredibly strong manifestation of altean alchemy with five of the strongest will magicians in the universe: the paladins. voltron unites the supernatural best of the universe’s most magically powerful species, creating a juggernaut that only gods themselves can truly oppose.

our wishes decide our fates. our thoughts carve the course of history. knowing this, descartes’ famous saying deserves an addition:

We think, therefore we are. We think, therefore it is.

[oblio-k]

forgot to post my ficlet here about Odo finding one of his wacky Hundred siblings who landed in a civilization where they were worshipped instead of being an outcast,, also on ao3 under my handle BubbaKnowlton :^)

The Demigod / Worship

Odo tries his hardest to convince his-

Brother? Sibling? Cousin? Fellow Changeling?

-his fellow abandoned changeling that there is no reason for it nor any of their kind to live in fear and outcast any longer. The Dominion War has ended, the Federation and Bajorans are his friends. He offers protection, offers to teach it all he knows, so it can make a proper life for itself. He assumes that like Laas, like the other ones he’s found since the war ended, like all the changelings who died before becoming the Founders, that it has been persecuted by non-Changelings for its shape-shifting abilities, its inability to properly assume a humanoid form. All the infant changelings had been purposefully made defective.

He doesn’t expect that one of them had landed in the hands of a civilization that saw those defects as divine.

Heaven’s Guide to Armistice / The Surrendering Ultimate / Demigod Ever Shifting, listens to Odo, and then laughs. It presses Odo back, surrounding him in a cage of sharp spines and old bones and brilliant fire, and spins a tale he couldn’t have ever imagined, plunging hands deep into his chest and sharing everything.

Something alien is found in the orbit of a planet no one has ever seen and is brought to the surface. There, it is realized to be alive. When its shapeshifting abilities are discovered, the civilization realizes that what they hold is no alien being, but something from their most sacred legends, a demigod that can’t keep its shape. Heaven’s Guide to Armistice-

“You can call me Heaven, though-” the creature sings outside of the link.

-is brought to their high temple, and worshipped. Its shapeshifting is praised constantly, every need provided. The civilization sings of their legends, and Heaven believes wholeheartedly that it is indeed one of their deities. When it isn’t regenerating, it practices shifting nonstop, never taking a single form, never keeping a single part the same for longer than a few minutes. It still hasn’t taken just one form, it won’t take one form, it can’t.

Odo asks if it understands what it’s like to be something. He forces it to feel what he felt when he first understood what it was like to be a rock, a bird, a tree, a surface. Heaven screams and screams and screams.

The story continues. 

Odo promises not to interrupt. Heaven is melting over him, dripping off of the walls, the ceilings. It’s everything, forcing itself to take up as much space as possible in order to keep him down, to make him listen, feel. They link together even more and Heaven finds it thrilling and repulsive. Odo doesn’t know what to think. He’s never felt a changeling like this.

As Heaven grew and learned, the civilization became more and more convinced that it was indeed their great demigod of legend. Their inability to assume one form matched with the legends- the demigod, born within the chaos of space, unable to cope with its immortality and lack of identity, instead tried to be everything, to appease the formless gods who had flung it into existence. But it could never appease them, for they loved and despised and envied their creation, who would survive their downfall and lead on into a new age.

It is worshipped for centuries, loved and cared for and celebrated. It turns into anything and everything, for endless praise. It’s everything to it, and as Odo feels the love, he understands why Heaven is so perplexed by their linking, which feels like the memory of its worship. Odo can feel that in the peak of the civilization, that worship even rivalled the feeling of the Great Link.

The death of that civilization, however, rivals the loss he’d felt being turned into a Solid, being barred from the Great Link. At least he’d had hope that maybe someday he would be forgiven and accepted by his people again. Alone on a desolate, poisoned world, Heaven had nothing. There it was, formless, forsaken. The civilization was gone, dead and rotting all around it. With the legends proven false, it doesn’t know what it is, what to do. It has nothing. No home, no companions, not even an identity.

Heaven shudders, everything reverting back to its gelatinous form. Odo can barely stay humanoid himself, overwhelmed with the grief, the betrayal, the loss.

“What am I?” Heaven demands of him, its voice reverberating through the room, through their link.

“A Changeling,” he tells it, letting it see all he knows about their people.

“A Founder,” Heaven concludes, taking on a shifting form, a being of bones and gore and fire, the demigod as detailed in ancient scrolls, its favorite form, “...A god. I really am a god.”

He tries to push that they’re not gods, but Heaven forces them to link even further, taking everything it can about the Founders, about the Vorta and Jem’Hadar. It feels the worship from Weyoun, feels the obedience from the Jem’Hadar child he’d tried to save. And from Heaven Odo can feel a hunger, a want. It’s overjoyed that all along it’s been a god, that the civilization was right. Its life wasn’t a lie, a misconception, just a misunderstanding. Heaven engulfs him completely in their link and all Odo can feel is the memory of worship. He fights against it, rejecting it with all of his willpower. Heaven is consumed by its need to be a god and wants Odo to understand, to help it. He refuses.

Heaven rips everything they can about the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, where they are and how they function. It learns what they need to survive, it learns their ritual and devotion. When it has finished taking the knowledge it needs, it ends their link while they’re still attached, ripping from him in an instant.

Odo comes to in a runabout, Dr. Bashir scanning him with a medical tricorder. He struggles to assume his humanoid form, and when he does, Bashir has to catch him from tumbling off of the biobed. He lays him down and asks, “Odo, what happened? I thought you were meeting with another Changeling.”

“I did.”

“There was no sign of another Changeling on the planet when we found you. Your runabout was destroyed, ripped to pieces, somehow.”

“It was Heaven.”

“Heaven?” Dr. Bashir repeats, confused.

Odo nods. “The other Changeling. Its name was Heaven. I’ve made a mistake, Doctor. I shouldn’t have linked with Heaven.”

“What do you mean? The other Changelings only understood that they would be safe in the Federation or on Bajor if you linked with them.”

“It wasn’t like the other changelings, afraid of solids, afraid of being with humanoids. It already believed that it was a god. So when I told it about the Founders, I only solidified its belief. It had been worshipped by an extinct civilization, somewhere in the beta quadrant.”

“You’ve been regenerating for 34 hours. Did it hurt you?”

“I don’t know. Linking with Heaven- it wasn’t like linking with the other Changelings, or with the Great Link. It forced me to see its memories, forced me to show it my memories.” He sits up. “We have to warn Starfleet- I think Heaven is planning to go after the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, to find new worshippers. It wanted to know everything about them.”

Bashir understands his worry, immediately going to a computer console to send a message. There were still Vorta and Jem’Hadar that worshipped Changelings as gods. If one showed up proclaiming to be one, it was bound to attract a following. And if Heaven got ahold of Jem’Hadar, there was a chance it would use them as the Founders once had, as soldiers. Odo hadn’t felt any conquering need from Heaven, but Heaven hadn’t shared all of the legends of its civilization in detail, the failed prophecy too painful. Perhaps the new age promised by the gods had been an age of expansion.

The doctor finishes sending the message and says, “It won’t do anyone any good to have another Founder running around, trying to be worshipped.”

“I’d like to find it again, try to explain the truth to it, that we’re not gods, before it can do anything harmful.”

[virtuemoired]

i'm not sure if anyone has asked this already but can you do a top 5 best costumes for scott?

hi anon, i thought you’d never ask! today was a pretty rough day, so hopefully this cheers u up, anything 2 share my thoughts w the class! enjoy :’)

5. umbrellas small town boy: 9.2/10

starting off STRONG bc umbrellas!Scott was truly a sight to behold. in this picture, he is 20 years old, and all i have to say is that they don’t make ice dancers like that anymore. EVERYTHING about this look is *chef’s kiss*, from the collar right down to the carefully sewn chest pockets. scott moir woke up at the crack of DAWN to carefully roll up those sleeves to perfection, and made sure to tuck in his shirt precisely into his cottage boy pants to really sell the program. this is au naturale soft scott, only rivaled by mahler!Scott and latch!Scott WHICH WE WILL GET TO. in my humble opinion, 2008-2010 scott is peak scott, no matter what latch!Scott supremacists might have u believe. it is ONE thing to be a good ice dancer, but it is another to completely EMBODY the character of Guy Foucher and skate ur HEART out to the soundtrack “i will wait for you” over and over to tessa virtue. this costume never missed a beat, and i thank my lucky stars everyday for it.

4. latch: 9.5/10

latch!Scott is just one of those things where you can’t not include it, bc it is so ICONIC. if i’m speaking w 100% honesty, the real star of the show is his hair™️, but bc it is all about the full ~package~ we are gonna include his hair as being part of the costume. u know how v/m always say that they let their skating speak for itself? well i think that scott let his HAIR speak for itself bc when i was coming up w this list, my first thoughts were “latch scott” before i was like wait. what did latch!Scott even WEAR? for the life of me, i couldn’t remember. it was only until i googled that i realised he was wearing a blue costume (pictured). when scott said that his job was to get people to focus on tessa, he was lying bc his hair overshadowed his plans, and ended his own career. he thought he was smart wearing this unassuming blue shirt but we know ur game, moir. ur hair had more flow than dare i say tessa’s latch dress, and that’s the tea on that.

3. mahler: 9.7/10

u must be asking urself, what could possibly top latch? in which case, dear reader, u are in for a TREAT. you see, while latch!Scott had the best hair, mahler was the og soft scott. umbrellas was just the beginning, and i am so glad that mahler!Scott came through with this LEWK. i feel v strongly about the fact that we rarely ever got a chance to see scott in white with black pants, bc i personally love the pure, can-do-no-wrong vibe™️ going for him, right down to the cut at the back of his pants that NO ONE appreciates, but i do, scott moir. i do. 

2. great gig turtleneck: 9.9/10

legend has it that if you look up the definition for perfection, great gig!Scott will show up in the results. if tessa’s green dress was revelatory, black turtleneck scott is quite possibly the GREATEST thing that has EVER happened to ice dance. this is the creation by the hands of FATE, bc if their suitcases hadn’t gotten lost we would’ve NEVER had the honour of appreciating this MASTERPIECE in all its 1080p glory. it was truly divine intervention and if u look at the men’s and ice dance field now, every single skater has tried at least ONCE to accomplish even HALF of what scott did here, but NONE of them have even come CLOSE. not even scott moir HIMSELF could replicate this iconic gem, and today we send our thoughts and prayers to this work of art sculpted by the skating gods to get them on the worlds podium. truth is, turtleneck!Scott is a mirage and quite frankly i ask myself everyday if it really did happen. he would fit in at a patisserie in paris, france and no one would bat an eye. i feel like this picture deserves to be hung in the LOUVRE, so everyone can appreciate this underrated chef-d'œuvre of a costume. look, he even got me speaking in a foreign language, the POWER. don’t even get me STARTED on the hair, bc this is i-just-woke-up-and-oh-my-god-i-have-a-competition-in-5-mins scott moir hair and i am HERE! FOR! IT! he said, screw it, let me show u the greatest serpentine lift and WATCH US get onto the podium w minimal practice and DOMINATE. the BDE of it all. one of the commentators said that they had the cheapest costumes in the entire competition, and while that MAY be true this was the beginning stages of carmen!Scott and for that we should all bow down to it.

1. long time running: 10/10

tessa virtue can claim the colour green, and scott moir could OWN the black long sleeved shirt any day of the week. this was turtleneck!Scott 2.0, and i’ll gladly take what i can get. carmen!Scott walked so this look could run, and i’m so glad their last skate at the olympics was when scott was looking his absolute FINEST™️. the simplicity of it all is just too beautiful for words, but i’ll try anyway. 

this is the person u take home to meet ur parents, the kind of guy that ur grandma wants u to marry, and who all ur other boyfriends will be relentlessly compared to. take long time running!Scott and put him with tessa virtue wearing her stunning red dress, and ladies and gentlemen, you are seeing whatever greets u at the gates of ice dance HEAVEN. i fully believe that angels were sent down to bless us with this look, and scott’s hair here is really just the icing on top of cake.

scott often talks about “showing tessa off” and so everyone pays his costumes DUST, but when the commentators said “they made ice dance a little more classier”, this is EXACTLY what they meant. the whole i put this on as a sign of respect for the last skate of our careers on olympic ice energy really speaks to my SOUL, and as i previously said i am a SUCKER for a can-do-no-wrong vibe™️ so this ticks ALL my boxes. this is like the AU of moulin rouge, and it is the place i would put under the “mentally i am here” meme. i just think it’s so beautiful how, like turtleneck!Scott, we only got to see this finished look ONCE during the olympics, and then never again. but that’s okay, because this look watered my crops, fed my soul, and made me believe in true love again.

let me tell u, it was a journey to get to this look, a long time running if u must, but u know what? HE WAS WELL WORTH THE WAIT *mic drop* 

[eye-cri]

Word count: 1586 👁👄👁

Summary: I've always found it interesting that after the first Titanomachy, we've never seen Rhea again. Its still wh x mythology tho. So,,,, Chaos!Zeus x Rhea!Aidma

The Titanomachy was finally over. The gods now replaced the titans and they were to rule over the universe. Rhea knew, as she looked at the one who was to rule the gods that they would have a much better reign than Kronos did.

But what was she going to do now? She was no queen anymore. Not that she enjoyed being queen, oh no she was content to not being queen anymore. But the question still stands. What was she to do now?

She then remembered a certain someone. Oh of course! The first thing she'd do is tell him of the success of their plan. You see while Aidma did come up with the most of the plan of the rebellion, she was advised for feeding Kronos not a god, but a stone. After being advised that she came up with the rest of the plan. To hide Albert away until he was strong enough to surprise Kronos by having him throw up the eaten gods. Her advisor was surprised that she could come up with such a plan but he approved of it.

Secretly Aidma was overjoyed with receiving praise from the advisor. You see, her advisor was Chaos.

Before Chaos had met Rhea he had remembered most of his past life through out time. That's why he comes out of his realm to bond with those of his past life even if they don't remember him. But his presence is far too immense for anyone to be able to stand in it for long and it takes a lot of energy for him to be able to make his presence bearable so he can never stay long. But even though he remembers practically all of his past life, he couldn't seem to be able to remember something very important. This was bothering him greatly until a fated day.

That day Rhea was suffering from grief for her divine creation. She had just watched Kronos eat another of her precious divine creations. Kronos ordered her to sleep it off because he was annoyed hearing her cry. Somehow, in her sleep her spirit had wondered into Chaos' realm. Once her spirit had taken a step into Chaos' realm he, himself, the formal moral Zeus Brundle had sensed her presence in his realm.

Curious as to who in their right mind would step into his realm willingly he immediately made his way towards her spirit. When he was close enough to see her spirit, he deformed himself. Aidma felt a presence all around her but she didn't feel scared. She felt that this presence was simply curious and not threatening. But which direction was the presence coming from? She subtly looked around her. Nothing of any particular interest was around. Then she felt the presence gather in one area in front of her while she was looking behind her.

She didn't turn her head back to look at the presence. Sure the presence was huge and she should probably distance herself from it but she stayed still. Once the presence was fully formed she heard a chuckle come from it.

" You must have a lot of confidence to come into my realm recklessly like this."

She was silent for a few seconds. Then she spoke up, still facing away from him.

"Forgive me Lord Chaos. I was not aware of the direction of my footsteps. If you wish it, I shall take my leave immediately."

At the last part she slowly turned her head to look at him. Indeed, looking at him only made his presence bigger. But she didn't feel too crushed, for her calming presence seemed to make it bearable for her.

But once Rhea's eyes meet Chaos', he was hit instantly with a massive wave of remembrance. The gap of his memory was now full. She, Rhea or better known to him as Aidma is what he had been trying to remember. However she showed no signs of having remembered him. Neither spoke for a good while. They just stared at each other.

Finally, Zeus spoke.

"What reason are you here for exactly, Rhea?"

Her face tightened a bit and she said

"I told you. I recklessly wondered here."

"Maybe so. But what made you start to recklessly wonder?"

Her face started to look sad. And she responded with

"I think you can already tell, can't you?"

Yes in fact, he had already figured it out. Kronos had eaten her recent divine creation. He had seen it. You see, nothing can hide from Zeus' eyes. He can view whatever he wants without any challenges whatsoever.

He looked at her.

"Rhea. Stay here for the time being." He was hoping to talk to her to see if he could make her remember him.

Rhea was shocked at this request and let it mildly show but she agreed.

They walked around, talking. Zeus showed his prideful side which usually pushes people away but Aidma seemed to not mind. She didn't say, but she found that cute. Eventually she had to return. But Zeus promised the next time she fell asleep he'd bring her back.

Sometime had passed and as promised, everytime Rhea fell asleep, her spirit had been summoned by Chaos. Since Chaos had remembered her from his mortal life, his love for her came back. But while Aidma did not remember him from her past life, she had slowly started to develop love for him.

One day Rhea told Chaos that she wanted to make another divine creation but didn't want Kronos to eat it again. After thinking for a second Chaos told Rhea to trick him by instead of giving him the creation, give him a stone. That lit up a light bulb in Rhea's head. She then excitingly told him her thoughts of the rest of her plan. Chaos looked proud of her when she finished her explanation and told her to do it. That is how present day came to be.

This time however, Rhea wanted to go to Chaos physically. Not just her spirit would be in his presence but all of her would be in his presence. She didn't know how to even do that though so she tried praying to him. Zeus was delighted at her request and easily summoned all of her to him. She told him of the success with pride and joy. He congratulated her but he also had something up his sleeve.

A while back, during a visit from her for some reason, they had come across the topic of favorite things. While Zeus already had a good idea of Aidma's favorite things she knew nothing of his. Even so Zeus asked her what her favorite flowers were. She had told him that all flowers were her favorite. He laughed at that. Of course he had one, already knew that and two, figured that a being like her would love all flowers. He told her the second part of that thought but not the first part.

Today he had ordered Gaia to make a field of diverse flowers for him. Chaos was going to take her there and tell her his feelings. It somewhat reminded of his mortal self confessing to Aidma in a somewhat similar way which made him smile. He told Rhea to come with him, for he had a "congratulations" present for her. Flattered by this, Rhea agreed.

Once they got there Rhea took on a joyful expression. One that Chaos hadn't seen in this life on her. Before she could speak he asked her something.

"Aside from a congratulations present why do you think I went out of my way to give this to you?"

In response to that, Rhea stopped for a moment to think.

"Hmmmm to tell you the truth im not sure. You're to random to be predictable."

She said with a shrug of her shoulders.

He lightly chuckled at that.

"I brought you here to.... confess something."

"Confess......?" Her voice filled with worry.

"But first, let me ask you. What do you remember about your mortal life?"

Her face changed into a thoughtful expression. After a few moments she whispered

"Only the traumatic bits....."

"I see......"

"Well that doesn't mean much any way." He spoke up with a lighter tone.

"What is important though......" He looked away a bit embarrassed.

This surprised Rhea. Never had she seen Chaos, the most powerful of all, have an embarrassed expression on his face. She didn't say anything but she was happy to have the chance to see that expression on his face.

"Is the fact that I have feelings for you."

He was barely audible but once he was finished speaking Rhea threw her arms around him. Laughter burst from her as they ended up falling on the ground. Zeus quickly wrapped his arms around her too but he was confused on why she was laughing. Her face came into view above him as she calmed down. A huge smile was on her face and she whispered

"I have feelings for you too."

A smile appeared on Zeus' face. Then he moved his hand to her face and leaned in. Gentle lips kissed his. Just like he remembered.

Content with spending most of her time in her and Chaos' realm she doesn't step out much, however she does still whisper to any that seem to be in need of her help. To the embrace of Chaos is where Rhea went after the Titanomachy.

[aforrestofstuff]

What do you think the OPM characters' guilty pleasures would be? I feel like Tatsu loves soap operas and Atomic Samurai secretly loves a really popular boy band, like SMAP

Thanks for your request, anon! Sorry this took me so long to get to, you were buried in my inbox lol. But I hope this was worth the wait because oh boy this required all 3 of my brain cells.

Tornado of Terror: As you said, soap operas. She also loves candy apples in canon. But...she also is a HUGE fan of those really cheesy Cosmopolitan magazines that have all of the personality quizzes and the “which hot male celeb would date you” scenarios. She doesn’t fall for it one bit. In fact, she hate reads those fuckers in the same way that people pay to go see bad movies. It’s fun.

Silverfang: Yoga and following along to some cheesy-ass 80s workout videos. I’ve said he likes yoga in a previous headcanon, but he also likes to exercise along to some obnoxious 80s pop while some dude in a leotard instructs him on what to do from a TV screen. He wears sweatbands and legwarmers, too. The whole shebang. He only does it when he’s alone, though. Sometimes he’ll try to teach yoga to his disciples as a way to help them decompress after a long training session, but his workout tapes are his best-kept secret.

Atomic Samurai: I don’t know what a SMAP is, but he’s definitely got some questionable music choices going on considering he’s... well, the way that he is. I’d say he likes to listen to old country, like Marty Robbins and Glen Campbell. It’s really funny because you’ve got this intimidating man from Japan (or a fictional universe basically set in Japan) with a badass katana and shit but inside that empty head of his, there’s just a faint “out in the west Texas town of El Paso....”

Child Emperor: Picking at scabs. He’s often on his knees fixing shit in his lab, and he probably gets burned all the damn time from playing around with lasers so he’s undoubtedly always has a wound healing somewhere. Whenever he’s working on something, he’ll just absentmindedly pick at his scabs. It’s a bad habit and he knows it, but nothing beats the feeling of peeling off an entire patch of that shit. So satisfying.

Metal Knight: Buying books. He doesn’t even read them. He just buys bigass novels with smart-sounding names to fill up his library because he thinks it’ll make his dick grow another three inches or some shit. One of the few things he likes in this world (besides homicide) is the smell of a new book. If he’s feeling particularly pissy, he’ll go into his library and just ssssssnnnnnnnnnniififfffffffffff. He spends an outrageous amount of money on it. If he has anyone over (which is unlikely, but hypothetically speaking) and they mention his library by asking something like “have you read all of these?” It’ll be one of the few times in his life that he’ll feel shame.

King: Reading and writing fanfiction based on his favorite video game/anime series. Nobody knows he does this except his small following online, of course. And even more so, nobody online knows he’s an ultra-popular S-Class hero who’s friends with the most powerful man on earth. He’s actually a pretty decent writer, he just doesn’t take himself too seriously so the plotline to his stories tend to get a little haywire and overly self-indulgent. Let him have his fun. He just wants to be a Sailor Scout.

Zombieman: Singing. He actually used to be a good singer (he sounded like a discount Steve Perry back in the day), but constant smoking really fucked up his voice. He might as well have lungs the size of grapes because he can’t carry a note for more than 2 seconds without wheezing like an accordion with asthma. He’s never sang in front of anyone before because he thinks it’s silly thing that isn’t worth showing off. Play anything from The Eagles though, and he’ll have a hard time resisting.

Drive Knight: He likes to open up panels in his arms and legs to play with the wires (basically a robot’s version of nerve endings, I’m assuming) just so he can feel something. It’s kind of sad because he doesn’t experience pain or the cold or being tickled... (I know what y’all are thinking and you’d better STOP). So he sometimes takes it upon himself to dick around with his insides and dip his toe into what it feels like to be human, even if it’s just for a little bit. He’s super secretive about it (he’s just secretive about everything, really) because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he desires something outside of being a weapon of mass destruction justice.

Pig God: His whole schtick is basically indulging in a guilty pleasure — pigging out on delicious food with no regard whatsoever for one’s overall health. Other than that, however, he does like to collect body pillows. There, I said it. All he fucking does is eat and he’s too much of a big boi to be going out 24/7, so he’s gotta be on the internet/watching anime/playing video games/reading manga during all of that downtime between his stints of doing hero work. His bed is fucking ginormous to handle all of that big boy-ness and on it, he has his body pillow nest. He rests on a throne made for kings. A true icon.

Superalloy Darkshine: Also working out along to some cheesy 80s exercise videos. His hero outfit was inspired from what those ravishing instructors would wear on the television. Well, it was supposed to be a full leotard but it ripped every time he flexed just a tiny bit so the speedo is the only thing that’s left. He’s gotta hella rhythm and keeps up with the music using little to no effort. Although, he can’t go too hard because he’s also a big boi and he’ll literally shake the entire building if he gets too turnt up. Dance muscle boy, dance.

Watchdog Man: Eating too many dog treats lol. Sometimes while he’s stationed on his little podium thing, visitors will leave him little offerings like dog treats and other miscellaneous food items/toys. He never takes them or eats them in front of people, but he often brings everything home with him after a long day just to gobble that shit up. He’s gained a little weight since he started doing it but you can’t even notice it because his suit is hella bulky. Some of it is due in part to stress-eating because being a dog and dude at the same time is hectic, but it’s honest work.

Flashy Flash: Racing shit. Whenever he’s on his travels during, say, assassination missions or hero work, he gets hella bored really quickly. So, to help with this, he’ll often race birds or planes flying in the sky on his way to his destination to see who’s quicker (it’s always him). Sometimes he’ll even play catch with himself by throwing a pine cone or something and running to the place he guesses it’ll land before it even touches the ground. He just does a ton of weird speedster shit whenever he’s bored and he’ll deny it if anyone asks.

Genos: Purposefully putting a little bit too much oil on his joints after each upgrade so he’ll be as slick as a salamander. It’s a really funny feeling to be able to move your limbs with little to no resistance without having to worry about popping or breaking anything. It just makes him feel so agile despite being like, a hunk of actual metal. If he wasn’t so uptight, he would loosen the screws in his fingers to he can bend them almost all the way back (he’s actually thought about it a few times), but both Dr. Kuseno and his 3 remaining braincells attested to that. He just likes to tinker around with his body and see what weird shit he can do. It’s a bad habit because it’s led to a few things being broken on multiple occasions.

Metal Bat: Zenko’s shitty pop music. Whenever he drops her off at school or piano practice, he’ll immediately go home and blast that shit on full volume (because he’s practically deaf from always jumping out of falling buildings and continuously blasting music in his earbuds) while doing chores and the like. He’s one of those people that HAVE to have something going on in the background as they’re getting shit done. He’d rather be caught dead than listening to the OPM equivalent of Taylor Swift because he knows Zenko would never let him live it down.

Tanktop Master: Wearing suits around the house when he’s not even going anywhere. He’s got to wear his tanktop 24/7 whenever he’s in public to keep up The Image (which he has no problem with, he genuinely loves the tanktop ideology) but he also needs to feel fancy every once and a while. So, if he happens to have the time while in between appearances, he’ll prance around in a suit tailored just for him. Because he’s so fucking huge that he had to pay someone a large sum to custom make an outfit that actually fits. He is 7-motherfucking-feet tall. 7.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Making Valentine’s Day cards all times of the year. Listen, it gets boring as hell in prison. Sometimes the guards will let all of the inmates have a little glitter and glue to keep themselves busy because no harm can come of a little arts and crafts, right? He likes to make cards on the daily just to let all of his lovers know how much he appreciates them. If they express even the slightest amount of disdain for his creations, he’ll spent the next week crying in the darkest corner of his cell block. He also likes origami. Origami is huge in prison because it’s hella time-consuming and guaranteed to calm a busy mind. His favorite things to make are little unicorns.

Amai Mask: Bath bombs. There have been several mishaps in which he’s used a poorly-made bath bomb and came out of the tub looking like Shrek but he’s grown and lot since then, okay? After a long day or a particularly stressful concert, he’ll sink into some hot water and drop a ball of lavender-scented goodness in there. It’s become a bit of an addiction because he’s got multiple cabinets dedicated solely to his collection, but at least he always smells divine.

Iaian: Shakespearean dramas. Kama got him hooked on theater shit and he’s since ripped through all of the most well-known plays. He thinks in iambic pentameter. It wasn’t always noticeable since he’s a quiet, well-reserved guy but his fellow disciples and Kami have recently noticed that he’s developed a bit of a dramatic flair. Even worse, he’s started calling himself a knight whenever he puts on his armor. Everyone prays it’s just a phase but seeing as how stubborn Iaian is, that seeks highly unlikely. Kami is dying inside because he can’t handle another drama nerd.

Okamaitachi: Soap operas, like Tatsumaki. Kama is the most dramatic out of all of the disciples so it’s only natural that she’d like the most dramatic genre of any show out there. She doesn’t exactly watch them religiously though. She’s the type of viewer to drop off the face of the earth for three seasons and come back without knowing what the fuck is going on (because the disciples have limited access to cable due to Kami’s dumbassery and ignorance to anything technology-related), but still cry during the finale anyway because oh no these people are so hot and one of them is deaaaaaad and the other one is that person’s long-lost sister....

Bushidrill: Taking alcohol from Atomic Samurai’s stash every so often. Bushidrill knows what the good shit is and he could buy it himself if he wanted to, but why would he when there’s a perfectly good alcoholic to steal from living right down the hall? He only takes in small doses because, believe it or not—he’s smart, but Kami isn’t gonna notice regardless of whether or not Bushi takes 1 or 5 bottles at a time because the old shit couldn’t spot a purple raccoon if it was 3 feet in front of him. There have been times where Bushi has opened bottles of Kami’s alcohol right in front of him just to play God and he always, without missing a beat, says “Oh, we have the same taste. How neat.”

Fubuki: I’ve said this before in a previous headcanon, but she has a mild obsession with Victorian aesthetic. She’s got a small collection of semi-authentic ballgowns that cost upwards of a-fuckton-of-money each, but anything’s worth it to be able to play dress-up with Lily. Fubuki’s favorite thing is making Lily feel beautiful because everyone has been an insecure teenager at one point and she knows how it feels to not be comfortable in one’s own skin. This isn’t exactly a guilty pleasure because she’s not guilty about it, but it’s almost gotten to a point where an intervention is needed. She’s got so many damn dresses and sooooo much fine china....

Saitama: Retail therapy, lol. Saitama is only good at budgeting because he has no choice given how fucking poor he is, but give this boy even a little bit of leeway and he’ll buy the ugliest clothes (to which he thinks look poppin’) and the best meats without even batting an eye. His entire manga collection is the product of him having little to no self control the moment he realizes he’s got a bit of money to spend on himself. This is also the only time he’ll experiment with cooking because now he can actually afford to fuck up, literally.

Mumen Rider: Sweets! I’ve said this in a previous hc but he has a major sweet tooth. You can substitute salt for sugar in any given recipe and he’ll see it as a major improvement because he just goes absolutely buckwild for anything sweet. His pancreas is suffering, but he believes nothing feels better than curling up under the covers on a rainy day with a heaping helping of milk chocolate. The only thing that makes him feel better after getting beat to shit is a kiss on the cheek and box of his favorite cookies (and some bananas, lol).

Sonic: Like Flash, he also likes racing things. But, in addition to that, his guilty pleasure is doing his own hair in elaborate hairstyles (when it was longer). He’s pretty much homeless so he’s got a lot of time to himself in between murders. This is when you can find him sitting in the woods somewhere braiding flowers into his hair and tying it off with a moss ribbon. He’d never admit he does this because he’s a big macho man and he’d probably cry.

Garou: Spicy chips. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he absolutely inhales his food without even tasting it half the time so it’s not even like he gets to enjoy the flavor that much. He just likes the burn because he’s a shithead. He also doesn’t fear death or a torn-up asshole, so he’ll eat an entire family-sized bag of the OPM-universe equivalent to Takis without even batting an eye. He’s been beat to shit so many times that the agony that comes with downing so much spice is lost on him. He doesn’t even need water. It’s insane. Someone stop this madman at once.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #14: The Queen Of Fire And Her Sister’s Warmth

Words: ca. 4300 Setting: Canon AU Lemon: No CW: Angst, Burns, Traumatic Experiences, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety

It was a cold winter’s night in the kingdom of Arendelle, at a time when everyone should have been in bed… except for one young girl, Princess Elsa of Arendelle. The young girl was sitting up on her bed, holding a book to her chest. She loved to read, always fascinated by the stories written on the pages before her.

Yes, she knew she really should have been sleeping, but this story had been very engrossing, loving the romance between the two princesses that was unfolding before her eyes. As she turned the page, she looked down at the small stuffed penguin at her side. Sir Jorgenbjorgen, her constant companion from when she was a baby.

Though, he wasn’t her only company that night. On the bed opposite her, Elsa knew her baby sister Anna was fast asleep. The young girl had hopefully been tired out after their father had read her a bedtime story, but Anna had a natural… fire to her that couldn’t easily have been put out.

Anna wasn’t like most girls her age as she had something that set her apart from the other children. Did this make Elsa jealous? No, she loved Anna and the wonderful gift she had. She was her best friend after all and even if they were different in some aspects, they both still got along.

However, just as Elsa was about to finish the chapter she was on… a voice called out to her.

“Psst Elsa!” Little Anna called out to her sister.

The older girl put down her book, seeing Anna sat up in her bed, wide awake. “What is it, Anna?”

“I’m bored and can’t sleep,” Anna groaned. “The sky’s awake, so I’m awake… so can you play with me?”

Elsa sighed. “It’s a bit late for playtime Anna… maybe tomorrow okay?” The older girl pulled her cuddly penguin close to her and went back to her reading.

Anna just pouted for a moment, really wanting to have fun with her sister. And then in her mind, she remembered the one thing that would always be able to wrap her sister around her finger.

“Do you wanna see some magic?” the little girl teased.

And then, Elsa gave in. The book could wait for another night. It wasn’t like it was going anywhere. She placed the book on her bedside table, sighing. “Fine, Anna, you win.”

“Yayyyy!” the little girl cheered. Anna then hopped off her bed, grabbing some pillows and sitting down on them. Elsa joined her, bringing her own pillows and Sir Jorgenbjorgen.

Anna chuckled, holding out her hands. She concentrated and focused for a few seconds, as a spark of flame formed in her palms. With her will alone, Anna morphed the spark into a shape, a small bird that then flew into the air, obeying Anna’s command.

“Behold, my firebird!” Anna cheered.

Sitting forward, Elsa stared in awe at Anna’s creature. She didn’t know what divine being had blessed Anna with this gift, the power to create fire and flame… but she thought it truly was a blessing. She only wondered how those powers would grow as they got older.

The firebird flew around the room a few times, before landing back into Anna’s hand, the younger princess reabsorbing it into herself.

“Ta-da!” She chirped.

Elsa giggled. She had to admit… Anna’s little magic show was much more interesting than her novel. She watched as Anna danced on, making other shapes and displays with her mastery of fire. There didn’t seem to be any limit to what Anna could do.

Their parents had forbidden Anna from using her powers in public, however. Arendelle was a kingdom that had long held a prejudice against magic, a stigma that sadly wasn’t going to be broken anytime soon. There hadn’t really been an explanation of how Anna came to be born with her gifts.

But did that really matter? The flames Anna produced were beautiful and Elsa adored them. The shapes and patterns Anna could display with her flames… she was wonderful and Elsa couldn’t have had a better little sister.

After finishing dancing with her flames, Anna grinned at her sister. “Okay, Elsa! Anything you wanna see?”

“Me?” Elsa wondered. “I thought this was all you, Anna.”

The younger girl giggled. “Yeah, but I wanna make you happy! Just tell me what you want and I’ll make it with my fire!”

Elsa chuckled. “Okay…” She thought for a moment. “Can you make a snowman?”

“A snowman?” Anna wondered.

“Yeah, a snowman.”

“Oooh! A snowman made out of fire!” Anna chirped. “That sounds awesome!” She thought for a moment and quickly, began to manipulate the sparks of flames in her hands to conjure up a shape above her head. There the image formed, into the shape of a short, chubby snowman with twigs for arms and a pointed nose. Anna grinned, running around in awe of her own creation.

“Wow!” Elsa exclaimed. “You did it!”

“I made Olaf!” Anna responded.

“Olaf?”

Anna giggled. “Well he needed a name… and he seems a bit lonely, so I’ll make him some friends too!” She then started to manipulate her flames again, creating more images of various creatures to be Olaf’s friends. A reindeer, a large bulky snow monster, a small little lizard and even a mighty horse that she even animated, Elsa watching the steed gallop through the air of the room.

However, Elsa then noticed how large and complex the shapes were. They were getting too large to fit in the room… and she wasn’t sure if Anna could make any more. She could see how exhausted and tired Anna was starting to get. She needed to stop this before she hurt herself.

“Hey, Anna,” Elsa stated. “I think we can end it there for tonight… can you put out your flames now?”

“Uh… okay,” Anna replied nervously. She tried to hold out her hands… to her despair, she couldn’t reabsorb the flames back into herself. Her eyes widened the panic as the fiery shapes started to grow larger, their images distorting. What were once cute animals and snowmen were now twisted, infernal creatures.

“Anna shut it off!” Elsa exclaimed.

“I can’t… they’re out of my-”

KABOOOM!!!!

The enormous mass of fiery energy exploded right in front of Anna and Elsa’s faces, flame enveloping not just their room, but a good chunk of the castle as well. The wooden roof came down on top of them, pinning Anna down under a pillar as the room was ablaze.

Elsa was knocked back, surrounded by the burning flames. The older girl panicked, seeing her sister pinned down under the rubble. “Anna!”

“Elsa… help!” Anna pleaded, too weak to try and pull herself free.

“I’m coming!” Elsa called to her, grabbing Sir Jorgenbjorgen and rushing towards Anna.

However, unbeknownst to Elsa, another wooden beam above their heads was about to give way. Anna looked up and stared in horror as Elsa rushed towards her, knowing the beam was going to come down on her sister’s head.

And then, with a mighty CRACK, the beam came loose, tumbling down towards Elsa.

“Elsa look out!” Anna shouted. In that moment of panic, she fired a blast of flame that managed to knock her sister out of the way… and hit her in the face. her sister landed on the ground, the beam missing her by only a few inches. But as she lay unconscious, Anna saw a part of her blonde hair turn a charred grey.

“No!” Anna cried out. “NOOOOOO!!!”

xXx

Anna gasped, recoiling from the memory of the accident. She looked around in panic for a moment, almost thinking that Elsa was in danger. To her relief, however, Elsa was nowhere to be found and in the mirror, she saw that she was no longer that little girl, but a beautiful young woman.

A woman who today… was going to be crowned Queen of her kingdom.

For Anna, she had secretly been dreading this day. Mainly because of how anxious it made her feel and when her anxiety flared up, all that trauma she’d had over the years came bubbling to the service. It had all started several years earlier, when her parents admitted to Anna the truth about her birth… or rather Elsa’s birth.

Elsa had apparently been born of an affair from before Anna’s father had met her mother. As such, she and Elsa were actually half-siblings and only an heir of pure blood would inherit the throne. That meant Anna was the one who would be Queen, instead of Elsa like she’d always expected.

Though she had accepted the responsibility and had gladly gone through with all the years of study and preparation to become Arendelle’s monarch… she hadn’t expected to take the throne so young. The tender age of twenty-one. Even her father hadn’t become king nearly as young. But she couldn’t have predicted the future, that hers and Elsa’s parents had died tragically at sea six years ago.

Since then, Elsa had been the only family Anna had, but the soon to be Queen had shut her out a little, not wanting her to get too close. Though she hadn’t thankfully killed Elsa all those years ago, the incident had left its scars, in the form of the grey streak in Elsa’s perfect platinum blonde locks. And Anna was scared of hurting her still. Although all these years, she did long for her sister’s warmth…

Her magic had also grown stronger over the years, meaning Anna had to better control her powers. The incident all those years ago had practically burned half the castle down, though again, thankfully no one had been killed. While the castle was being rebuilt, mainly with stone and brick replacing the flimsy flammable wood, Anna and Elsa stayed with relatives from the north who understood magic and helped to train Anna to control her gifts.

And yet, even with all this control, after all this time, Anna felt like her powers were one step away from breaking loose and burning the whole kingdom down. She felt a deep shiver course through her veins as she merely thought about her magic losing control. Her hands started to warm up frantically, a sort of subconscious reaction to whenever these cold spells overcame her.

But Anna soon cooled her hands down, as she knew she wasn’t really cold. Just her anxious thoughts playing a trick on her. She sighed, knowing that today she’d likely have to put up with quite a few more cold spells.

She walked to the window, gazing at the courtyard and all the guests and foreign dignitaries that were arriving. Anna was happy to see so many new faces, all to cheer her on as Queen… and there was also the nagging thought of her becoming so overwhelmed that she would lose control.

No, Anna silenced her thoughts. I can handle this. I’m not afraid of my powers and I’m not afraid of being cold again.

As she looked out into the courtyard, she caught a glimpse of the massive ice sculpture in the yard. It depicted a massive beautiful dragon with wide transparent wings and a figure of Anna riding on its back. Elsa had so many hobbies, quite a lot of them artistic in nature. Her ice sculptures were among the most famous.

Seeing the sculpture made Anna relax as she thought of Elsa, how caring and sweet the older girl was. Over the years, she had grown to love Elsa, to be so grateful for her kindness. She didn’t deserve it… which made her feel rotten about the fact that she had developed feelings for her.

She hadn’t known when the feelings started, maybe while they were alone together following their parents’ deaths or perhaps when they were younger and discovering themselves.

But whenever it had happened, it had happened… and Anna was hopelessly in love with her sister. Which made her aversion to her warmth even more tragic. She adored Elsa deeply, despite them being sisters, and yet sometimes she was too scared to even hug her.

And it wasn’t exactly a secret. For the past few years, she’d been rejecting possible suitors… though there had been this young man who was the heir of the local ice harvester’s guild named Kristoff. She had tried something with him at least and while he had been sweet, Anna realised that in the end, she only had eyes for Elsa.

She looked at her gown, black and green, fit for a Queen. It fit her figure snugly and there was a long cape trailing behind her. She truly did look the part of being a Queen and hopefully… Anna could be the Queen Arendelle needed in these uncertain times.

Just then, Anna heard a knocking on her door.

“Your highness!” a servant called to her. “It’s time for the ceremony!”

Nodding Anna walked towards the door. “I’ll be right there,” she called back.

And so, a few moments later, Anna was walking down the aisle for her coronation ceremony, surrounded by the attended guests. As the choir sang our their hymns and all the guests gazed upon the soon-to-be crowned Queen, Anna meanwhile had only eyes for one person in particular.

It was Elsa, standing at the altar and watching her with a smile on her face. Anna looked at her again and beamed back, before her expression faltered once she saw the grey hairs on Elsa’s brow. Again, a reminder of her failure and her pain. Elsa would often tell people she’d been kissed by a fiery imp as a child as a way of explaining her hair, but Anna hated admitting the truth, that she was the cause.

Elsa stood in the chapel, watching Anna being walked to the altar for the ceremony. While she knew her sister looked gorgeous in her gown, she could see the intense regret and doubt on her younger sister’s face.

If she could do anything, it would be to relieve Anna of this burden and take the throne herself… but Elsa was a bastard. She had no right to the throne… but that didn’t mean it had to be forced on Anna. She knew how full of life the young girl was and didn’t want to see it wasted by being stuck inside with royal duties.

Yes, Anna would be a great Queen, but she had her whole life ahead of her… and that wasn’t counting the magical powers she’d been concealing all these years.

At least the pair of them looked completely gorgeous. The teal dress Elsa was wearing fitted her gloriously as well as the gloves, though of course, all the attention was on Anna and her stunning regal attire. She looked the part of a Queen perfectly.

As the Queen arrived at the altar, she shot Elsa a quick smile before the ceremony proceeded. Elsa knew she was trying her best and in her heart, she was proud of her. And yet, she still wished it was her taking the throne and not Anna. But Elsa was powerless, even if she was the eldest of the two sisters. Well, half-sisters, but did it really matter?

As Anna went and accepted the vows and promises of her birthright, kneeling before the altar as the bishop spoke, Elsa noticed the confidence in Anna’s voice. She was trying her best, bless her.

But Elsa just hoped Anna could hold it in until the end of the ceremony. This was all so much pressure on her, but she was proud of her baby sister for holding it this long. And then, the crown was finally placed on the Queen’s head.

It was beautiful, gold with several emerald jewels encrusted in it. As Anna took the orb and sceptre that were presented to her, she faced the crowd as the applauded rang out. For she was now Queen Anna of Arendelle, Sovereign of the north, worthy monarch of greatness.

But all Elsa could notice was the anxious expression of Anna’s face, as parts of her two objects started to glow red with heat. It took all of Anna’s effort not to melt the two objects in her hands. Quickly, Anna placed the orb and sceptre down, smiling at the gathered crowd.

At that, Anna and Elsa breathed a sigh of relief.

xXx

Later that evening, there was a grand ball held in Queen Anna’s honour, celebrating her ascension to the throne. It was truly a wonderful affair, with laughter and music and dancing, not to mention the food. As Anna walked out onto the stage after her name was called, she waved politely and beamed at her guests.

The most stressful part of the day was over and now she could enjoy herself. Eventually, Elsa was summoned to her side, the older woman waving at the crowd before striding to Anna’s side elegantly. Both sisters waved at the applauding crowd, Anna beaming with queenly radiance.

As the crowd went back to their festivities, there was a silence between the two sisters. Anna wasn’t exactly sure what to say, so it was Elsa who eventually broke the awkward pause.

“You look beautiful,” she whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Anna replied. “You’re not so bad yourself. A new dress?”

“One of Mother’s old ones,” Elsa told her. “So… how does it feel to be Queen?”

“It feels… different,” Anna admitted. “Not sure if I’m gonna get used to people calling me "your majesty.”

“You will, and I’ll be there for you,” Elsa replied. She smelled the air, sensing a familiar aroma filling her nostrils. “Is that… chocolate?”

“Mmmm yeah, smells amazing!” Anna chirped. “I can’t wait to gorge myself on it later.”

“Oh you and your appetite,” Elsa responded. “But… don’t you think you should dance a little first?”

“Who with?” Anna wondered, as she then saw Elsa holding out her hand. “Oh….”

The blonde woman smiled at her younger sister. “Would do me the honour of having your first dance as Queen with me, your majesty?”

Anna felt nervous for a moment. She was still wary of touching her sister, but she knew that as Queen, it would be rude to refuse such a dance. Besides… she had longed to dance with Elsa like this. She’d even dreamed of it. She just had to be careful when it came to actually touching Elsa.

“I would,” Anna replied. “Gladly.”

Elsa then took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. Placing her hand around her waist, Elsa started to waltz with Anna, smiling at her. For a moment, all of Anna’s fears simply washed away as she was lost in Elsa’s embrace. But she shook her head, trying to remain in control.

The last thing she wanted was for her powers to flare up and her hands to burn that dress off Elsa… not that she wasn’t already doing that with her eyes. Anna felt ashamed to think of Elsa in such a manner, especially at that moment. But Elsa was clearly the more beautiful of the pair. Beautifuller? Was that even a word?

Her sister twirled with her, grinning at her as they danced. The eyes of the crowd watched them, and Anna was still desperate to remain in control. She was feeling the chill again, the horrible sensation rising up within her. But she kept staring at Elsa, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Bet you’re glad I took those lessons,” Elsa chimed in.

“Y-Yes,” Anna nervously replied. “Can we… go somewhere for a moment? I think I need some space.”

“Are you alright?” Elsa asked her.

“Fine!” Anna chimed in. “Just need some… air.”

Elsa nodded, and then they parted. The two sisters made their way off the dance floor and quickly into a side corridor from the room, the crowd completely unaware of their departure.

Heading through the hallways, they soon arrived at the balcony overlooking the gardens.

No one would disturb them there.

“Finally, we’re alone,” Anna admitted, the Queen standing on the balcony overlooking the castle’s beautiful gardens. While she had loved being at the party, not to mention dancing with Elsa, she needed this moment to just calm down.

Fortunately now, the chill inside of her was gone and there were no worries of any flareups.

Elsa sat with her, smiling at her. Anna truly was beautiful… but Elsa felt that at the moment Anna was still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Are you alright?” Elsa asked her.

“Yes…. I’m feeling much better,” Anna replied. “Sorry that I cut our dance short.”

“It’s fine,” Elsa assured her. “I… could sense you were feeling a little stressed. Your powers aren’t flaring up, are they?”

“No, thankfully,” Anna admitted. “Look… can we just talk about something else?”

“Okay..” Elsa replied. “Do you… have any idea what your first act as Queen will be?”

"Oh, I’m not sure yet,” Anna admitted. “There’s just… so much I have to do now. I don’t even know where I’m supposed to start with all this ruling the kingdom stuff.” “You’ll have me,” Elsa said assuredly. “I didn’t spend my life studying to just sit around doing nothing all day.”

“There are your ice sculptures,” Anna remarked. “The one you made in the courtyard of that dragon is gorgeous.”

“You know what I mean,” Elsa told her sister. “Remember how we promised? When you’re Queen, I’d be your right hand… and I’m offering that hand to you.”

A cold shiver ran down Anna’s spine again, the all too familiar sensation. Yes, she wanted to take Elsa’s hand again, to accept her warmth… but even after all these years, she was scared of letting go of her powers again, of hurting Elsa again. The sight of the charred hairs on Elsa’s forehead reminded her of it all.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Anna insisted, but she could already feel the fire inside starting to get loose again.

Elsa could see that Anna was starting to get worked up. “No, you’re stressing yourself out, again, Anna. I can see it from here.”

“Elsa, I’m alright!” Anna argued. “I will be able to handle this! You don’t need to worry about me! I’m not a little girl any more, I’m Queen and-”

“And what? Only you can do this by yourself?” Elsa finished.

Anna stopped, hugging herself. She exhaled, trying to mentally warm herself up, to feel in control of her powers again. Even after gaining much better control of them after all these years, she was still frustrated that she was vulnerable to her own insecurities.

Elsa stared at her sister. “You’re… You’re still worried about hurting me again, aren’t you?”

Anna nodded. “I… I’m sorry… It’s stupid. It was so many years ago and I should have overcome it. I mean, I got my powers under control, I should be capable of this. I shouldn’t have freaked out on the dance floor.”

"Yes, you did get your powers under control,” Elsa stated. “But Anna… are you under control?”

Anna wasn’t sure how to answer that. Or rather, she did know how to answer that , but just didn’t want to say it. She was the Queen, she was meant to be under control. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so insecure. That wasn’t what a Queen was… but right now, she wasn’t a queen.

She was just a scared, stressed out young woman… who deeply wanted her sister’s warmth.

Elsa opened her arms, smiling kindly at Anna. “Come here,” she said softly. “Just let me hold you. I’ll take your pain away. Just let it go.”

“No!… I’m not in a good way right now,” Anna argued.

“All the more reason for you to be cared for, and shown love and warmth,” Elsa insisted.

“I could hurt you again!” the queen shouted.

“No you won’t,” Elsa stated. “I know you, Anna. I knew you from the moment you were born. You would never hurt a fly.” And then Elsa pulled the Queen into an embrace, hugging her tightly. Anna panicked for a moment… and then, it all stopped. The pain, the anguish, the anxiety… for one brief moment, it vanished.

Holding onto Elsa tighter, Anna shed a few tears, feeling her sister’s gloved hand stroke her. She felt warmth, love, compassion from her sister… and she didn’t feel scared about hurting her. She did have everything under control, she did feel at peace… and it was thanks to her sister.

As they pulled away, Anna stared into Elsa’s eyes. She was lost in her beauty, her warmth, that smile. Even those charred hairs in her perfect blonde locks didn’t detract from her gorgeous appearance. And in place of the anxiety she’d felt, Anna felt her attraction grow for her sister.

And then on impulse… she kissed her. Her hands cupped Elsa’s cheeks and letting out a passionate moan, Anna kissed her sister deeply, holding her close. Elsa panicked, quickly pushing Anna away. Both women stared at one another with flushed faces.

“I’m so sorry,” Anna whispered. “I didn’t…”

“You… You kissed me,” Elsa stated. “But, Anna… we’re….”

“I don’t care if we’re sisters,” Anna admitted. “You give me warmth and love… and I want that love. I need that love. I need your love if I’m going to be a good queen. I want you to keep me warm again… just like when we were kids.”

Elsa didn’t know what to say. She just stared at Anna completely dumbfounded. It felt wrong, that kiss had felt wrong but she knew that Anna needed this. She did feel guilty… but if she would be Anna’s lover, if she could be her warmth then Anna would be at ease again.

“You want me to be your warmth?” Elsa asked.

Anna nodded. “Please.”

Then, Elsa smiled. “I’ll do it, your majesty. I’ll keep you warm.” And then, she cupped Anna’s cheeks and kissed her passionately, Anna holding her as the kiss filled the Queen with warmth and love.

[renxamamiya]

Twin Stars

Late birthday present for @lenle-g! It’s been ages since I’ve properly written Thunderbirds fanfic and god it feels good.

A03 | 4.2k

“-and Gordon managed to catch it! You should have been there, John!”

Alan’s excited face as he recounted his recent mission shone brightly through the holovid. Earlier that day International Rescue had received a distress call in one of the National Parks in Thailand, where a couple accidentally collapsed into a previously unknown cave network unearthed by soft mud left from the recent monsoon rain.

John always liked to hear about Alan’s recent escapades down on Earth, the youngest Tracy’s enthusiasm infectious and delightful to hear that John couldn’t help but smile. He knew that for Alan, being part of a mission taking place on the blue, glowing planet below John’s feet was a rarity for Alan, the young boy having to always sit out just in case someone needed help within the reaches of their solar system - something that occurred more commonly as space travel continued to evolve rapidly. The young Tracy, unlike the majority of his brothers, had little opportunity to experience the different places around the World outside their Island home; and John pitied him.

“Well, that’s amazing, Alan,” John said, returning Alan's enthusiastic smile, while reaching for his coffee, taking a sip from his mug, thankful that artificial gravity was even a possibility on Thunderbird Five. Though he was in the rescuing ‘business’ alongside his brothers, he preferred to be out of the action, to be their watchful eye, their guardian angel.

“I mean, it’s better than having to perform system diagnostics on Thunderbird Five,” Alan said smugly, crossing his arms as he looked at John with some sort of smug superiority, “I know you gotta do it but it seems really boring, you sure you can’t let Brains take care of it?”

“I’m fine,” John assured Alan, taking another sip from his mug, “I’ve done this numerous times, and I don’t need to tear Brains from his work. Besides, I have EOS right here with me.”

“You mean your code baby?” Alan laughed, and John rolled his eyes, “I know you hate being around people but I mean, do you really hate people that much that you’d rather be around some computers?”

“I am not just a ‘computer’,” EOS piqued up, her childish voice sounding clear offence to Alan’s little nickname, “And John and I are progressing through the system diagnostic quite well, thank you very much. Ever since I became a member of International Rescue, there have been practically no flaws in the system’s code. Thunderbird Five is impenetrable.”

“For now,” John corrected the AI, “Remember, Havoc managed to install a virus in your software-”

“-Through an illegal and extremely painful form of brute-forcing my code!-”

“- and we need to ensure that our systems have as little vulnerabilities as possible. We can’t take that change. Ever.”

“Which is why I’m glad that I’m not doing any of that.” Alan laughed, trying to introduce humour to the rapidly tense atmosphere between creation and creator. It seemed to work, as John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before remembering that Alan was still on the call.

“Sorry about that, Alan.” John apologised to the younger Tracy, “I didn’t mean for any interruptions during our call.”

“Aww it’s okay, John, I should be the one sorry. After all, I did anger the code baby,” Alan said, causing EOS to blow a raspberry (or play a sound clip of a raspberry) directed towards Alan.

“So, when are you coming down to Earth again?” Alan asks John, his eyes now staring at him with eagerness, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has, but it’s normally busy for us this time of year, isn’t it?” John said, knowing that the change of weather and the encroaching holiday season meant more people being tired as most of the World is shrouded in dark and cold, meaning more opportunity for disaster. Alan’s face fell, disappointed that he would likely be seeing his elder space-loving brother way later than he wanted, and that John was right.

He groaned, crossing his arms on the table before nestling his head on top of them. He hated winter rescue missions, and silently begged for any divine being for there to be no disasters as the winter season encroached across the world. John cringed, suddenly realising what he had done.

“Sorry...” he mumbled.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Alan reassured his brother, swinging his head up from the table, and gave John a smile, “Just make sure you buy me a super cool gift, okay? I won’t accept anything less than a new hoverboard if you’re missing Christmas again.”

“Alan, I’m sure that Brains can build something much better than what you can get on the market.” John pointed out, and Alan groaned.

“Yeah but he’s busy,” he whined, and John rolled his eyes; yet he knew that it was Alan’s excuse to see John again back on Earth, even if it meant that the ginger astronaut was tripping on his own two feet for the entire duration he was there.

“Okay, Alan,” John relented, sighing as he put his coffee down, quickly turning his attention to multiple screens towards the side as to check the progress of his temporarily forgotten system diagnostics, “I’ll look over the possible models. Maybe, if everything quiets down this year, we can take a trip somewhere?”

“Where exactly?” Alan asks, and John smiles at how suddenly excited he looks.

“I don’t know. Other than Ohio to meet up with some friends, I’m leaving the rest up to you.”

“Oh hell yeah!” Alan practically jumps out from his seat, now restless at the prospect of travelling to somewhere different with John. Before he could say anything, John could hear the distinct call announcing dinner from Grandma. He turned to look at John.

“I’ll be back, John,” he informs his brother, “It’s dinner time, and damn I’m suddenly hungry.”

“Well, good luck with Grandma’s cooking,” John said, now feeling pitiful towards Alan as he smiled at his brother.

“Nah, it’s Virge’s turn, thankfully,” Alan said, “He’s making some really nice curry tonight that he found somewhere in Dad’s old cookbooks! Oh god it smells delicious! I gotta dash, John, talk later, bye!”

“Bye, Alan,” John waved just as Alan disconnected the coms. Getting up quickly to pour away the remains of his now cold cup of coffee, he sat back at his workstation, pulling up a message window, and typed requested some time off with Alan from Scott.

***

There was fire everywhere. Heat rumbled in his ears as metal cracked and splintered below his feet, flakes of wiring and globs of plastic dripped ahead of him as he carried his injured brother out from the rapidly collapsing space station, his arm around his neck.

John struggled for breath in his helmet as he helped Alan navigate the flaming remains of the wreckage, the oxygen that the failing life support provided was already being eaten up by greedy flames that continued to roar for more. The two Tracy’s were familiar with the danger around them and practised many times over the course of their careers to make miracle escapes, yet despite their almost divine-like lucky streak, the disappearance of their father for many years have properly ingrained in them that they too could not escape the threat of death.

“John?” Alan murmured as he quietly exited from unconsciousness, the wound from the heavy steel that struck the young astronaut from earlier in the rescue oozed blood, the crimson streaking visibly down his pale face alongside streams of sweat under his helmet.

“Yes, Alan?” John said, trying hard to give his brother a comforting expression as they shuffled through the deteriorating space station, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“-m fine,” Alan grunted as he looked at his brother through half-lidded eyes. Alan was not fine, John having the displeasure of witnessing a beam fall on his brother as they made their escape alongside the other members of the space station. Sharp, steel shrapnel sliced Alan’s skin as the station suddenly exploded, sending the youngest of the two brothers whizzing back, and John considered it a miracle that his baby brother wasn’t now blind in both eyes. “-at happened?”

John’s soft smile faltered as he heard Alan’s speech slur, Alan delirious from his sudden, violent impact onto the floor and the smog that choked his lungs. John had the displeasure to witness Alan’s slip out of consciousness, minutes before he struggled to get Alan’s helmet on as he breathed heavily within his own.

“You got caught in a blast,” he replied shortly, turning his attention to the path before him, “Some metal shrapnel scraped your skin pretty bad. It’s a miracle you only got away with that scratch.”

“Oof,” Alan commented, and John struggled to swallow the urge to scold him right there and then. What Alan did there was reckless, staying seconds longer at that malfunctioning console then John had advised him to, he didn’t need to be the one who had to man the console, he…

John shook the intrusive thoughts as he grunted audibly, mustering the extra energy he needed to push forward, his muscles screaming from the previous aches of having to pry open functionless doors and pushing away obstructing debris. He turned to check on Alan again, his eyes still half-open, unfocused as he kept his gaze looking at the floor before them.

“How far are we to Thunderbird Three?”

“Not far,” John answered, just able to see the airlock they used to board the space station past another set of doors, relieved that the glass has been damaged to the point of shattering thanks to the surrounding heat. He breathed in a deep breath, the air in his helmet stale and hot while the muscles in his legs ached. When he had managed to reach the sanctuary of Thunderbird Five, he had to revise his own exercise routine to work more on his leg muscles, he thought to himself.

“We’re close now, Alan, just hold on tight, okay?” John said. Alan's only response was a grunt of acknowledgement, and John wondered if his words were meant to console his younger brother or himself. They both continued to trudge towards and through the broken glass of the last door dividing them between certain death and salvation, John helping Alan through the jaded glass, anxiety choked him at the idea of even a small bit of glass scratching through the fragile material of Alan’s spacesuit.

“-Mmm we there yet?” Alan said, and John uttered a quick ‘yes’ as he again draped Alan’s arm around him. They were so close. So so close.

“There you are!” one of the astronauts said, and John ignored their impatient glare as he quickly typed Thunderbird Three’s access code, exhaling the tense breath he unconsciously held as the access hatch opened up invitingly. John gestured with a quick nod of his head, an invitation for the scientists to follow him into the rocket before quickly shuffling inside with his brother, heading towards the cockpit.

“Easy does it now,” he muttered, lowering Alan gently into his seat, taking off Alan’s helmet to allow him some semblance of fresh air. Alan gasped deeply, and then coughed as John quickly checked his wound. The gash was noticeable, yes, and he feared that it was too deep to be properly taken care of while in space.

“-m gonna be okay, John,” Alan huffed, and he lightly swatted John’s hand away in annoyance, “You’re as bad as Scott,”

“It’s a good thing that the other astronauts don’t have any injuries,” John thought to himself, annoyed that Alan was acting so childish despite being injured. He reached for the First Aid Kit that was located in a compartment that was snugly under the dashboard, quickly taking out a padded gauze and antiseptic, before disinfecting Alan’s wound, the youngest hissing in response.

“John, we don’t have time for this,” Alan said as he again swatted John’s hand away from him, “We need to go, the station is about to blow,”

“Alan, please I need to take care of it now,” John warned, pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto the gauze before pressing it onto Alan’s head, earning a loud hiss from the boy, reaching for tape in order to hold it in place, “You’re bleeding, and I cannot take the risk of it getting infected,”

Alan replied with nothing, too tired to put up anything other than weak grumbles and hisses as the antiseptic made contact with exposed flesh. John quickly patted the tape down on skin before dashing into his own chair, settling down and making sure he was secure before reaching over the controls, undocking Thunderbird Three from the faltering space station before departing, engines blasting in full throttle to ensure they didn’t blow up alongside the inevitable bomb beside them.

They were a few minutes in their flight back to Earth when Alan’s vision as someone cleared up, his eyes picking up the low rumble of Thunderbird Three’s rockets and the astronauts quietly muttering amongst themselves. He closed his eyes. Over the course of his rescuing career, he learned to appreciate moments of stillness and rest; though the rush of adrenaline of brushing against death was an addictive, thrill-seeking activity he couldn’t get enough of, the aftermath was less pleasant, and he still remembers the numerous injuries he had gotten as consequence for not allowing his body to rest.

He turned to John, his older brother’s expression focused and serious, arms tense as his hands gripped the navigation controls tightly. Alan swore he could hear the fabric strain by how tight John’s grip was, and could see his jaw clench tightly - something he did during high moments of stress and anxiety.

“John, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” John suddenly snapped, looking at with sad, angry eyes. Alan flinched, not used to John’s anger, the middle brother always being calm and detached emotionally to the point of numbness, almost like a machine, always listening and level-headed.

John noticed Alan’s flinching, and suddenly he shrunk with a guilty look on his face.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Alan,” he said, and Alan replied with a nod, “I just… I just thought you’d...”

“Hey, but I’m okay, I just got a bump, that’s all.”

“But it could have been worse.” John emphasised, looking away from his brother’s eyes and onto the scenery of space in front of him, “Even a tear in your suit could have been...”

“John, I’m fine, really.” Alan reassured his brother, and felt less tense as he saw John’s arms relax, “Honestly there’s no point in worrying about what if’s anymore. The mission is pretty much done and we can relax.”

“I know Alan, but I can’t help it.” John admits, swallowing nervously, “It’s a habit. You know how anxious I get, and just seeing you there unconscious… I know you’re more than capable of participating and even leading missions, Alan but… but no matter how many times you’ve been on missions I can’t help but worry.”

“I’m not a baby, John.” Alan fake pouts, and John laughs weakly.

“I know, but you’re my baby brother. That’ll never change.” John said, “and because you’re my baby brother, I don’t think I, or any of our family would stop worrying about you.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” Alan mumbles. The two brothers sat there while John continued to navigate them home.

“Hey, John?” Alan piqued up.

“Yes, Alan?”

“Thank you for rescuing me back there.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please, don’t tell Scott.”

“I don’t think that’s non-negotiable.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” John laughed, “If he saw you getting injured in the report before I had the chance to tell him, it’ll be my life on the line next. Unless you can save me, of course.”

“I don’t think even International Rescue can save you from the wrath of Scott going all Mom-Mode.” Alan joked, and John couldn’t resist the urge to let out a humorous, warm chuckle.

***

“John, can you tell me what mom was like?”

John looked up from the tablet he was reading to see Alan’s blue eyes peer into his own, his face half-obscured by shadows cast from the setting tropical sun, blue skies turning a gradient of rich red and orange. He tapped the power button of the tablet off before he put it down on the coffee table in front of him, allowing the spaceman to turn to his youngest brother.

The topic of their mother came up numerous times over the course of Alan growing up. She passed on too early in his life for Alan to remember her, only able to build an image of her in his head through pictures and old recordings that the family had kept safely throughout the years, still only able to daydream holidays with her, memories too young to properly remember the real, organic sound of her delighted laughs echoing in the small rooms of the ranch house they used to live in. John could only pass sympathy to Alan, him feeling as though he took for granted the moments he spent with his mother watching the stars twinkle at night from high, dusty hills, her shared enthusiasm for the stars and space and the beyond now echoed only by the telescope and old fashioned textbooks she silently left behind.

“Sure, Alan,” John replied to his brother’s inquiry, not brave enough to ask him why their mother had again sprung among the forefront of his mind. Alan predictably had a detached relationship with their mother, asking why his brother and father cried with such fervour around the time of her birthday and had looked at them with curiosity when a whiff of perfume from some passing stranger was sometimes all it took to make their eldest brother violently tear up. He felt sad with his mother’s passing, yes, but to him, it was more akin to losing out on something the other brothers shared so strongly. John understood empathised somewhat with this feeling; being the middle child meant that the time spent with his mother was not as fleeting like with Gordon and Alan, yet he was not so close with her as to feel the sizeable hole she left within her passing as she did with Scott and Virgil. A sweet spot he was awarded from the timing of his birth: one that allowed closeness with his mother, but also the distance in grieving when she passed.

“Well, she liked orchids and space, and enjoyed the smell of baked bread and the grass after he had rained-.” he started with practised cadence, the list of what their mom was like rehearsed through the many, many times Alan had repeated the question to him.

“Yeah, I know all of that.” Alan huffed, impatience getting to him from having listened to the same words over and over again, “I wanted to know what she was like when she had me.”

“Why the sudden curiosity?” John asked. Alan shifted in his stance.

“Well...” he said, now looking away at John in embarrassment as he reflexively rubbed the back of his neck, “My friend from my online class, Billy; his mom’s having another child, and that got me thinking...”

“About mom.” John finished, Alan sighed.

“Yeah.”

John grinned, amused at Alan’s sheepish behaviour. He nodded in reply and waited for Alan patiently as the younger brother made his way down the small steps into the circular lounge, sitting on the space next to the seasoned astronaut and waited for John to start with a patient gaze.

“When mom had you...” John started, closing his eyes momentarily to cast himself back into two decades ago, “I remembered there being the four of us at the time, of course. Gordon was always running around causing trouble in the house, mom trying to catch him while she was six months pregnant with you. I remember days where we helped her around the house whenever we could, mom too tired from having to take care of four sons while you were on the way. I uh, also remember some weird foods she had us pick up whenever we went into town with Dad.”

“Like what?”

“Pickled eggs, sometimes Hot Cheetos dipped in ice cream. I remember distinctly mom wanting nothing but imported durian for an entire month.”

Alan almost gagged at the list, John laughing gently at his reaction.

“That’s how I felt as well. Even the mention of durian still makes me a bit sick.”

“Yeah, yikes. Sorry, you had to endure that bro.”

“Unless you had direct control of mom’s cravings, you have nothing to be sorry for, Alan.”

“Well, not that I remember,” Alan said, and John raised an eyebrow, curious as to where this conversation was heading, “Unless of course, my alien baby instincts were controlling her the entire time!”

He positioned his index fingers around his canines, moving them around if they were mandibles as he made absurd sounds that John could do nothing but laugh at how ridiculous Alan was acting. Alan soon joined in, the two of them laughing in amusement before calming down to soft giggles.

“Haha, very funny, Alan,” John said, gathering his composure yet again, Alan grinning proudly at his joke. Silence drifted between them, John looking at his brother carefully as Alan thought of another question to ask him.

“John?”

“Yes, Alan?”

“How did mom react when she was told that she had me?” Alan asked, “I mean, having five boys does sound quite a handful.”

“Actually, mom wanted another son,” John recalled, and Alan looked at him with bewilderment, “You should have seen Dad’s reaction, however. Though he loves you dearly, I remember him hoping that we would have a sister instead. Gordon was especially pleased, as your arrival meant he would have someone to play with when Scott and Virgil were especially busy; Scott was just happy he’d soon have an excuse to get Gordon out of his hair.”

“What about you, John?” Alan asked him, and John shrugged.

“I don’t really remember what I thought,” he admitted, reflexively looking away at Alan for a bit as he tried to recall that particular memory, “I think I was just… indifferent.”

“Indifferent?”

“I think during that time, space was all I cared about, honestly.” he sighed, “I knew mom and dad wanted another child. It wasn’t exactly my place to protest, so I mostly kept quiet during mom’s pregnancy. Gordon was practically bragging to his friends about you, though, and I think both Scott and Virgil were happily anticipating your arrival as well.”

“Yeah…” Alan trailed off, John noticing Alan’s saddened expression.

“Alan.” John cautiously said, “What’s the matter?”

“I dunno.” Alan mumbled, giving John a half-hearted shrug, “I just...”

“What?”

“Dunno… disappointed that you didn’t really react much, I guess?”

“Oh.”

Silence again fell between the two brothers, tense emotions occupied the void left from the previous conversation. John looked away from Alan in embarrassment and shame, and Alan looked away in turn, the idea of staring at his b.

John suddenly chuckled to himself, Alan looked at him curiously.

“Why are you smiling, John?”

“I’ve just remembered something,” John said, looking up from the floor to meet Alan’s stare, “Something you used to do when mom and dad weren’t around.”

“What was it?” Alan asked, and John’s grin grew wider.

“Whenever I had a book out, about the stars, you’d always crawl up to me. Even when you were six or seven months old and Scott was too busy trying to get Gordon out of trouble you’d just sit next to me while I was reading. I think back then you thought I would read you a story there and then.”

“Did you read your science textbook to me when I was a baby?” Alan half-joked.

“Eventually.” John smiled, “You’d never leave me alone otherwise.”

“Haha wow,” Alan said, “Doubt I would have understood anything though.”

“That is true, but you were a diligent student when you weren’t drooling on the pages,” John said, fondly remembering helping an infant Alan trace the constellations in his book with his finger, a memory in which he still remembers fondly.

The two brothers continued to talk about tales from Alan’s infant years as the sun fully set and the moon rose in full, John recounting fond memories of messy dinners and sunny days out, and Alan listened intently, imagining them as his own.

“Hey, you two,” Scott’s said casually towards John and Alan, both of them interrupted by their vacation into nostalgia as they both turned to spot the eldest holding a cup of coffee and looking tired, no doubt still intending to get some work done before heading off into bed, “What are you guys doing?”

“Nothing much, Scott.” John answered before Alan did, “Just talking about some old memories with mom.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late, okay? Alan you need to get up to take that test tomorrow, and John-”

“Yes, Scott. No late-night projects. I understand.”

Scott gave the two of them a satisfied smile before he turned to walk off into the villa, the two brothers watching him until he left.

“You know, with Scotty around, it’s almost like mom never really left,” Alan said smugly, and John couldn’t help but laugh.

[drdln3-blog]

Science, Religion, and Spirituality: In Search of God

Dr. Sukhraj S. Dhillon Mountain House, CA 95391, USA 

 Science and religion have traditionally been treated like oil and water--they don’t mix. They don’t mix because we have been led to believe that religion is a form of subjective fundamental belief whereas science is objective verifiable phenomenon. In this article, I have developed a formula to mix science and religion and to explain that the concept of God has practical value only if we accept it as part of us. A scientist may find difficult to believe that some wise old man or woman sitting up in heaven is keeping track of everything, but can’t deny the incredible awareness and intelligence that exists in life, in nature, and in us. It’s being a scientist that makes us spiritual. 

 The questions about God, hell, heaven, and rebirth, and their relationship to realization, enlightenment, and spirituality, have occupied our mind for centuries in one form or another: What is God? Does He/She really exist? Why do we search for God? Do religions really believe in the same God? Why are there religious wars? Is there really a place such as heaven or hell? What was our past life? What will be our future life? Is there really such a thing as past life or future life? 

 Religions and prophets have been preaching about God, hell, and heaven for centuries, and millions of people have cultivated belief in these phenomena. The revolution of science and technology in this century has forced many of us to reevaluate the doctrines and tenets of our faith. Should we believe in creation or should we believe in evolution? Should we believe in heaven and God's court of justice when we look up in the sky, or should we believe in the space, the planets, and the galaxies up there? I hope this article provides a fresh insight into the mysteries about God, hell, heaven, and rebirth--and leave us wiser, peaceful, and enlightened.  

What is God? 

 The philosophy of religion or the institute of God is the human's greatest discovery. God is not a physical object. It is a state of mind. God is the Electromagnetic pulse of energy that gives life and lives within all. What we call our conscious/soul is part of God within us. That is why great prophets and religious scriptures say God is everywhere (omnipresent). Whenever, wherever, our mind and soul is with us, God is there; and the saying goes “God resides in our hearts- -not in temples, mosques, or churches. Bernie Siegel (author of Love, Medicine & Miracles) says same thing, “God resides in each of us.” In other words, God is a spirit that exists in every person. The rich, the poor, the king, the subject, the religious, the atheist, the sinner, the sage, the Easterner, the Westerner, the Christian, the Jew, the Hindu, the Muslim, the Sikh, the Buddhist, and on and on.... This is consistent with what the Christians preach: “We are ideas of God!” And ideas come from--the divine mind. Only people (Homo sapiens) among the animal species are fortunate enough to have a powerful mind and experience the presence of spirit in their mind. The recognition of that spirit is what gives us spiritual living or realization of God. Completely illuminated human beings know that God is present in the deepest and most central part of their own soul. God is not outside the world. God is the world. So, philosophically, God is a State of Mind; OR It’s our mind, which is God! OR God is a spirit/conscious energy that exists in each one of us! (lf you're confused, don’t worry! Read on!!)  

“God is not outside the world. God is within us. Live a Holy, Healthy, Happy Life.” 

 Religion-spirituality and science can come together. God is scientific. God is light. God is darkness. God is intelligent, loving energy. God is nature. God is in us. God is psychoneuroimmunology when we witness miracles of healing. God is all. Some of us may distinguish between religion and spirituality; religion may be a possessive and destructive force that doesn’t allow expansion of mind, whereas spirituality is a healing force with no rules attached to God’s love or God’s ability to sustain us. We should remember the real purpose of a religion is spirituality; and we should try to stay away from names and definitions. God, for example, is one of the many names of the same divine force or universal energy. 

 For those who feel comfortable with the word God or Creator, it’s a divine word! It brings peace of mind. With prayer, we speak to God. With miracles, God responds. Science now explains miracles of healing through the mind-body relationship. With prayer we awaken the spirit in our mind, and the transformed-spiritual mind causes hormonal and other chemical changes that eventually may result in healing. As such, God or Creator is not a separate entity, it’s part of us- -present right in our mind all the time. God is within us every moment, in every circumstance. He/She is to our left and to our right, before us and behind us, above us and beneath us. God watches every act--criminal or noble--and every moment, whether we’re alone or in a crowd. We cannot deceive God (our own mind/conscious) by thinking nobody is watching us. 

 What about our belief in God's form of existence or court of justice? Nobody could describe the physical or descriptive existence of God in the past, nobody can describe it now in the present, and nobody is likely to describe it in the future. For an atheist there is no God because physical existence cannot be proven. And that is why discussion on existence or nonexistence of God never gets anywhere. God's existence cannot be proved or disproved. God is not a body like us sitting somewhere in the sky. We have launched rockets into the space, we have built space-station, we have analyzed moon rocks, we have taken close-up pictures of the planets--we don’t find even primitive life form, never mind finding God in the sky. Science may not find God in the sky who keeps track of everything, but the incredible awareness and intelligence that exists in life, in nature, and in us on this Earth is a form of God's scientific existence. 

 It’s impossible to see God, because He/She is an integral part of our mind. Since God is within us, we obviously can’t see God, just as, for instance, an eye cannot see itself and an ear cannot hear itself. And Zenrin puts in simply, “Like a sword that cuts, but cannot cut itself; like an eye that sees, but cannot see itself.” Our soul and God are one. The individual soul (atma) is part of universal or original or supreme or perfect soul called Parmatma (name of God in eastern scriptures). The attempt to bring the soul and God together merely perpetuates the illusion that the two are separate. It’s not so, and we’re already It. To know God is to be God; the two are not at all separate, points out the Hindu scripture Upanishad. If God and we were two separate entities, then we could see, hold, and go around Him/Her in a ceremonial worship! However, in various religions we find unique ways to worship God. Practitioners use symbols of godhead varying from images/statues to holy books and even imaginary pictures. 

 The great prophets, Christ, Mohammed, Nanak, Buddha, Krishna, and Mahavir, all provided avenues to the realization of God or to awaken the spirit that exists in our minds. These paths are different, but the destination or message is similar. More importantly, there is one common element; they all focus on something that exists in our minds and strive for a realization or spiritual awakening that forms the basis for a changed or spiritual state of mind. 

 If God is a state of mind with awakened spirit, what is that state of mind! 

 That state of mind is without fear, without enmity, immortal without the fear of death or birth, complete within itself--timeless, ageless, and form- less (Akaal Moorat). We know that only the physical body ages, spirit is not affected by time or age or birth or death. A few blessed ones realize that state of mind (Nirbhau, Nirvair, Akaal Moorat, Ajooni, Saebhang, Gur Parsad Mul-Mantra or Basic Principle, Japuji). Nanak, Mohammad, Christ, Buddha, Mahavir, and other great prophets attained such a state of mind. They were able to awaken the spirit that existed in their minds. They realized the presence of spirit (God). In other words, they found God. 

 It is that state of mind with awakened spirit which Rajnish called orgasmic, saints call peaceful, psychiatrists call tranquil, and drug addicts call getting high. 

 Many spiritual masters have called this enlightened state of mind by different names. Buddha called it “the enlightened one.” Christ and Messiah also meant the same. St. Paul called it “the peace of God that passeth understanding” and Richard Maurice Bucke named it "Cosmic Consciousness.” Guru Nanak described as “realization of ultimate truth.” In Zen it is satori, in yoga it is samadhi or moksha, in Sufism it is fana, in Taoism it is wu or the Ultimate Tao. Gurdjieff labeled it “objective consciousness”; Sri Aurobindo refers to it as “illumination,” “liberation,” and “self-realization.” Dante said, “trans-humanization into a God.” Likewise, enlightenment has been symbolized by many images; the thousand-petaled lotus of Hinduism, the Holy Grail of Christianity, the clear mirror of Buddhism, Judaism’s Star of David, the yin-yang circle of Taoism, the mountain top, the swan, the still lake, the mystic rose, and the eternal flame. 

 How an individual describes the enlightened state of mind may seem quite different and even opposed. As one and the same pain may be described either as a hot pang or a cold sting, so the descriptions of the enlightened experience may take forms that seem so different. One person may say that he/she has found the answer to the whole mystery of life, but somehow cannot put it into words. Others will feel that they have experienced, not a transcendent God, but their own inmost nature. Some will get the sense that their egos or selves have expanded to become the entire universe, whereas others will feel that they have lost themselves altogether and that what they called their egos were never anything but abstractions. Some will describe themselves as infinitely enriched, while others will say they haven't a care in the world. A theist may call it a glimpse of the presence of God. 

 Irrespective of that experience, we can call this state of mind with awakened spirit “the spiritual state of mind.” In everyday living, spiritualism is experienced as kindness, forgiving, mercy, compassion, peace, joy, acceptance, non-judgment, joining, intimacy, and an absence of need to dominate others. Spiritual beings focus on authentic personal empowerment, utilize multidimensional thinking, and believe loving guidance is available. They feel connected to all of humanity and practice a life without desire to control someone or to prove that they are right and the other person is wrong. They know a dimension beyond cause and effect. They are motivated by morality, serenity, and quality of life. They recognize a violent response to evil as participating in evil and focus on what they stand for. They feel a sense of responsibility and belonging to the universe. They have a tendency to extend love and help others rather than feel enmity and competition. Their minds are not controlled by anger, fear, lust, greed, attachment, false ego, or envy. Their existence is not affected by time and age. They are not afraid of getting old or of dying young. They see no sin in the world to escape from. 

 Nonspiritual people, on the other hand, are in a state of fear and experience anger, abuse, pain, greed, addiction, selfishness, obsession, corruption, and violence. They hold grudges and seek revenge for perceived wrongdoing. They are only motivated by achievement, performance and acquisitions. They feel separate from all others.  

Why is there a spiritual need to search for God?  

“Possession of material riches, without inner peace, is like dying of thirst while bathing in a lake.” --Paramhansa Yogananda 

 To satisfy the sense may be the major challenge for some of us, but it is actually the easiest part. The mind and spirit require continual attention and stimulation. It is not until we assume responsibility for the enhancement of the total self that we can live full lives. 

  For the sake of simplicity, let's divide human life into three levels of existence. All three levels, we may point out, are a normal part of the human life cycle. It’s how we handle these levels that create hell or heaven in our lives. 

 1. The first level of our existence as a highly evolved animal leads us to search for sensual pleasures such as lust, drinking, smoking, drugs and anything that satisfies or pleases the senses. Many people may spend their entire life right at this level. 

2. The second level of our existence as we advance leads us to think more like humans since we live as a civilized society. That is to have a well-paying and respectable job, a good house, an expensive car, and other materialistic desires. All this is a normal character of ego which requires strength, strategy, and effort to achieve material possessions. Most of us spend our life rising only to second level. 

3. The third or highest level of our existence demands something more than the first level of sensual pleasures and the second level of materialistic living. It provides an extra touch to the first and second levels! That third level is spiritual living or enlightenment, which we can call the ultimate achievement in human existence. It is because of this desire that we find well educated, highly intelligent, extremely successful, wealthy people looking for a spiritual leader or guru. These are the people who desperately follow those who can provide some insight into spiritual philosophy, whether it is Maharishi Mahesh Yogi or Bhagwan Rajnish or Swami Prabhupada--author of English version of Bhagvad Geeta and founder of International Society of Krishna Consciousness in the western world, which provided the seed of Hare Krishna movement. 

 Most often the spiritual gurus are from the east since the western society is very big on action and there is no guidance for spiritual advancement. Owing to this spiritual need or void, 2500 or more cults exist in the U.S. alone. Cult leaders come from both east and west. Cult leader Jim Jones poisoned hundreds of his followers in the 1980s and David Koresh lead 86 people to burn themselves to death at Waco, Texas in 1993. Luc Jouret led over 50 members to forced death in Canada and Switzerland in October 1994. In March 1997, 39 followers of Heaven's Gate died in a mass suicide in Rancho Santa Fe, California near San Diego. It’s the understanding of spirit in our own mind that can save us from cult incidences. 

  “To seek spiritual power, there is no need to seek it through any occult hierarchy, any guru, any doctrine,” says J. Krishnamurti. “The important thing is to free our mind of envy, hate, and violence; and for that we don’t need an organization.” He calls people to examine their own hearts and minds to see the egotism and self-ignorance at the root of all sufferings and troubles; that is precisely what prevents enlightenment and spiritual power. 

 The spiritual power doesn’t come from the same sources that feed our ego. Ego power is an important part of society in the worldly sense. It requires strength, strategy, and efforts to achieve things that have a social value. We like a well-paying respectable job regardless of whether we're good at it, and it’s because of ego power we often are attracted to other material possessions. 

 Our efforts to achieve ego power, however, don’t necessarily empower the spirit or soul. The spiritual power comes from living close to the heart. It comes from unexpected sources such as failure, sickness, and loss. For example, when we endure through loss of job or illness, we find inner strength that strengthens our spirit. Spiritual or soul power also comes from being ourselves doing what we’re good at. Inherent qualities such as intelligence, attractive appearance, and even powerful voice provide soul power. Spiritual power comes from doing something for community or country. Although we may not see a benefit in the worldly sense, it nurtures the spirit and feeds the soul. When we fail to nurture our soul, we fail to live in peace with ourselves in the face of illness, loss of job or loss of loved one. It was perhaps the spiritual power, more than her wealth or recognition that provided Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis the strength to live through life-crises up to the last minute of her life-- May 19, 1994. It is for those successful, intelligent people who are looking for a spiritual power this article, I hope, will play a significant role. And please remember, a life lived in a spiritual state of mind or enlightenment is an everyday life with an extra dimension.  

How about hell, heaven, and rebirth? 

It’s our mind that creates hell.  It’s our mind that creates heaven. And it’s the liberation of our mind (or soul/conscious which is part of God in us) from the fear of death or other miseries of the world that is liberation from birth and death cycle. Buddhism calls it Nirvana. 

 Does hell or heaven exist as a particular place? No one has seen! But a person is in heaven if he/she is in spiritual state of mind; and is in hell if he/she loses control of mind. And our personality is the reflection of our state of mind. If our state of mind is saintly, we are a saint; if our state of mind is love, we are lovable; if our state of mind is complete, we are complete; if our state of mind is intelligent, we are intelligent; if our state of mind is unlimited, we are unlimited; if our state of mind is hope, we are hopeful; if our state of mind is honest, we are honest. On the other hand, if our state of mind is devilish, we’re devils; if our state of mind is evil, we become evil person. When, for example, we lose our control of mind to drugs--we’re opening the door to hell. 

 Satan or evil is nothing but a counterpart of goodness. We know heat exists, but its counterpart cold doesn’t exist. Cold is merely the deficiency or lack of heat. Similarly, light exists, but its counterpart darkness doesn’t exist. Darkness is merely the deficiency or absence of light. Same is true for evil. Evil doesn’t exist, but its counterpart goodness exists. It is simply the deficiency or absence of goodness that we have named evil. And evil is what leads us to the door of hell. Evil mind is the mind out of control. It’s like the fire, which is our servant for cooking and keeps us warm, but becomes evil when it gets out of control.  

Conclusion 

 All the thoughts here are part of a single concept. By improved state of mind or spiritual state of mind or sharpening our faith, we can add an extra dimension to everyday life. This concept ignores neither science nor religion, and removes the cloudiness of fear and confusion that interferes with achievement of ultimate happiness. Those who are in the business of saving souls after death should focus on the soul when they are still living on this planet. 

 This article is Yale-educated Dr. Dhillon’s personal conviction that has two pillars: an advanced degree in life sciences, molecular biology and evolution from the west and a fascination with spirituality from the east crafted out of studies at Yale University, U.S.A. in the west and Punjab University, India in the east. His views are expressed in over 12 books in self-help and spiritual series, several research articles, on television, in newspapers, and workshops. 

References: "Science, Religion & Spirituality," "In Search of God," and "Soul and Reincarnation" available at various Book Sellers including Amazon and Barnes & Noble. http://drdhillon.blogspot.com/

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly In Her Heart Pt. 7

Pt. 1   Pt. 2   Pt. 3   Pt. 4   Pt. 5   Pt. 6 

The first morning of the New Year, Max is spending her day in the cemetery.

She doesn’t really know what she believes about death, doesn’t have a clue where in the universe her brother might be now, be it of divinity or the supernatural, or maybe nowhere at all. All she knows is that she thinks the graveyard is creepy.

Right now, she’s sat cross-legged on the plot where her brother is buried, a space which is by now mostly grown over, her back against his headstone, wearing his jacket and using his Walkman.

There’s melting snow on the ground, the splotchy patches of ice soaking through her jeans and sending a nasty chill through her bones.

Her fingertips are numb, her nose and her cheeks are bright red from the whipping wind, her teeth chatter and her body shakes.

She hates the weather here, the dreariness and the bitter cold she never had to deal with back home, but she’s getting better at appreciating it for what it is.

Hawkins was supposed to be a new start, a way for her to sort of step away from how things used to be, when she still trusted her step-dad and when her and her brother fought all the time, so she could grow as a person.

She never expected it to be a permanent stop. Before Susan remarried, her and her mother used to move from city to city constantly, and she thought this would be like that in a way, where they’d move right on to the next place once they were done in the dinky little town.

But then they lost Billy, had to bury him in middle-of-nowhere Indiana, thousands of miles away from his home where he belonged, and Hawkins became a symbol of everything Max hated.

From optimism for where they could go from here, to the depressing reminder of confinement, of not being in control of her own life, her circumstances had done a complete 180.

She thinks that, for the most part, she’s getting better though. For one thing, it’s a pretty good sign that she’s not crying from just being here in the gloomy graveyard, but she’s still got a long ways to go.

Not that the hurt from her brothers death is ever going away, that’s a lifetime deal, but she’s at a place where she’s beginning to realize that the world is bigger than what she's lost.

Because, while Susan might not have been coming from the right place when she told her daughter that she needed to appreciate what she did have, Max thinks she can get behind it.

So what if her friends couldn’t feel her pain exactly, they were willing to help, and their help was exactly what she needed. That alone meant the world to her, no matter how pushy they could be, or how unhelpful their advice was.

And why did Hawkins have to lose its significance just because of the bad things that happened there? What was keeping her from remaining optimistic in the face of her suffering?

There was no good reason at all for why she couldn’t still be happy surrounded by her friends, or look forward to her future just because her brother couldn’t. If anything, she should do all of those things for him.

He never did much like anyone making a fuss over him, so Max likes to think that’s what Billy would’ve wanted her to believe too.

That’s why she’s out there now, mostly unprotected from weather cold enough to freeze her Winnebago, because she had made a promise to herself that she was going to be better at appreciating life for what it was, and that’s exactly what she would do.

In the moment, that meant becoming a human popsicle in the cemetery.

Any day now Maria Hargrove would be arriving in Hawkins to visit Billy, and Max wanted to be there when she did.

There was no telling exactly when she’d actually get in town, given the day and a half drive from Modesto to Hawkins, so for the past few days, Max had been camping out in the cemetery during the day as she awaited her arrival.

She’s starting to get bored waiting. Thrice she’s listened through the one mixtape of her brother’s that was still in the Walkman when she found it, and she’s considering just going home for the day.

Breaking curfew too many times meant the creation of new a rule that she be home before dark anyways, and considering she’s probably minutes away from becoming hypothermic, she decides she’s going to start heading back now.

As she stands and tries to brush off some of the ice clinging to her pants, though, she notices a woman a little ways away walking on the path, nervously checking every name on every headstone.

There’s not a glimmer of doubt in Max’s mind that this woman is Maria Hargrove.

The resemblance between mother and son is unmistakable, from the way their curls, dirty blonde and loose, laid flat in the winter, the curve of their button noses and the spatter of freckles across it, the deep blue of their eyes. Just seeing her and how much she looked like Billy, Max feels a twinge of sadness in her heart.

It’s when those eyes, in all of their dark intensity, meet hers that Max offers up a sympathetic smile, and slips her headphones off of her ears.

Maria’s gaze meets hers, and her face goes pale as she stops dead in her tracks. There’s a moment where it looks like she might bail, but she takes a deep breath, and steps forward.

“Are you Billy’s step-sister?”

“Yes ma'am”

Nervously, Maria goes for the formalities, deliberately standing so she can keep the headstone behind Max out of her line of sight.

Wrapping her arms around herself against the cold, or maybe for comfort, the nervous woman says “Thank you for reaching out, dear.”

Max shrugs her shoulders, keeping her freezing hands deep in her pockets. It’s an awful nonchalant gesture for how overwhelmed she’s feeling in the presence of Billy’s mom. “Thought you needed to know.”

Neither of them knows what to do for a moment, Maria still clearly not ready to actually address the reason she’s here, so Max tries to break the ice again.

“I have a picture here. You can have it.” She thought it would be a nice thing to do, bringing Maria a picture of Billy, since she probably hadn’t seen any of him that weren’t almost a decade old.

She chose one of the defects from last summer when they were trying to get his headshot for the lifeguard board. It’s a little blurry and washed out from the sun, but it’s one of the last few pictures ever to be taken of him, and the most Billy picture she had of him by far.

Probably because he’d been in his element, far away from the fake smiles and the even faker family bonding that most pictures of him included, just goofing off with his sister in the backyard and trying to get a good shot, it was definitely one of her favorites.

Taking the little Polaroid from Max’s hand, Maria gasps softly as she studies her estranged son's face. Tears bubble up in her throat as she remarks, mostly to herself, “My handsome boy…”

With what looked to be a tremendous effort, Maria looked up and took another few steps forward, now at the foot of her son's grave.

There’s a quiver in her voice as she asks Max softly, “Could you tell me what happened?”

“There was a fire at the mall. He tried to help some people out but the ceiling, it collapsed because it was glass and, he-he didn’t make it.” It’s a practiced story, she wonders if she’s a little too dull in her delivery, because it’s not really the whole truth.

The impaled by falling debris story just happened to be government approved, and tended to work a lot better than telling people he’d been killed by an inter dimensional monster from a parallel universe.

“My baby.” Her thumb caresses absentmindedly over the glossy photo. “Went out a hero.”

She smiles for nobody but herself. “He was always like that. Even when he was just a little thing, he thought he could protect me from Neil.”

“I- Neil, did he ever…?” Max can tell what she’s implying, if he ever abused Billy like he had his mother, and, not knowing how to be any less blunt about it, Max simply tells her, “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

With a shaky hand, Maria covers her mouth in something like shock, disappointment, regret. There’s a tightness in her voice when she speaks again, an unreadable mix between anger and heartbreak, “He swore to me he wouldn’t ever lay a hand on our boy.”

“God, I don’t know why I believed him.” Pushing her hair back, a nervous tick Max had seen her son do a thousand times as well, she barely manages to choke out, “He said he would change. I can’t-.”

She stews in that for a moment, teary eyes locked on the stone in front of her, and when she speaks again, her voice is full of something very different from the sadness she’d been letting through before. “I need to see him.”

There’s a dangerous look in her eye as she turns to look to Max, “Where can I find Neil Hargrove?”

Maria drives her back home in her ‘74 Karmann Ghia, and, while Max appreciates being spared the long walk home in the cold, she’s got to admit she’s nervous.

There’s no telling how exactly Neil is going to react to finding out that Maria’s in town thanks to Max, and she’s equally unsure about what Maria is going to do seeing her abuser for the first time in eight years. It’s more than stressful.

The truck is pulled up out front, confirming much to Max’s dismay that there’s no avoiding this confrontation. She just hopes things don’t get too far out of control.

Her parents must have been waiting up for her, because, as soon as they park, Neil is on the porch, arms crossed and looking stern, ready to chew out whichever of Max’s friends is behind the wheel this time, but that attitude is dropped completely when he sees Maria.

Mostly because, as soon as she steps out of the car, she makes him drop it, marching right across their lawn just to smack him as hard as she could.

Max quickly sneaks past them, running up to the porch and allowing her own mother to place a concerned hand on her shoulder and steer her inside away from the fighting. She continues watching from the living room window.

“How could you?” Even from inside, Max can hear her shrieking voice clearly. “I am his mother!”

Neil, a man typically known for the disturbingly calm way he fought, actually shows his anger, flushing red as a beet and telling her in a voice that’s shaking with hatred. “You lost your right to that boy the moment you walked out the door.”

“You know that’s not fair! You left me with no choice!” She puts both hands on his chest and shoves him hard, tears on her cheeks. “You lied to me!”

“I parented him as I saw fit!” He raises his voice, and Max swears see can physically see the restraint it’s taking him not to hit Maria back. She’s glad they hadn’t brought this inside.

“What right do you have to question me, when you,” he points a finger into her face, “you left us behind.” he says, turning it around on himself, “I was there for that boy, while you were what, trying to live out your fantasy? Run away so you could show me how independent you were?”

Maria screams back at him, “It doesn’t matter what you think of me! I still deserved to know that my baby was dead!”

Just watching the two of them go at it really explains a lot about Billy.

The temper, the terrible coping mechanisms, the anger issues, all of it can be boiled down to the display currently happening in her front yard.

Max finds herself wishing he had more time to work on it, the behavior that was so deeply ingrained in him, but seeing firsthand the way his parents conducted themselves, she felt proud of him that he could even do as much as he had before his life was cut short.

Though it only makes the sting of his last words, a broken apology past the blood bubbling up in his throat, all the worse, knowing that he’d been trying so hard to be different, but all she could do for him now was make sure she didn’t veer down the same path. To try to use all that her friends had taught her to keep from following in his footsteps, and repeating his same mistakes.

Billy’s parents, however, seem to have shut out any thoughts like that, letting their hostility and their aggression out right in the front yard, no doubt by now drawing a crowd of nose neighbors peeking through their blinds.

Maria slaps Neil again, for what exactly Max didn’t quite catch that time, and storms back to her car.

Neil follows her, standing at her drivers side door and continuing his tirade of profanities even as Maria’s drives away.

Watching Neil fuming in the street now that Maria is gone, Max thinks it’d be in her best interest to be as far away from the aftershock of the fight as possible.

She cautiously hides out in her room, listening to Neil stomping his way back into the house, to him slamming doors and saying nasty things to Susan until that’s all replaced with the sound of keys being dug out of a pocket, and the truck roaring to life out front.

Sometimes Neil would do that, just up and leave to go out drinking at the bar if he didn’t want to face something that made him particularly angry. Max’d take that any day over a beating.

The whole thing still leaves Max shaken to her core, so, using what she’s been trying to teach herself since deciding she didn’t have to do everything on her own, she decides she’s going to reach out.

It takes her forever to finally turn the dial on her walkie, and even longer to actually say anything into it. “Guys?”

There are no initial responses, so she tries again. “Anybody read me?”

The first to respond is Lucas with a “Loud and clear, MadMax.” and the rest follow suit with various confirmations of their own.

Eleven asks her, “Everything is alright?”

“Yeah, totally, I just,“ She sighs, trying to find the right words. Opening up was definitely something she needed more practice with. “Billy’s mom came into town today and it made my step dad really mad and-“

“Hold the phone.” It’s Steve interrupting her despite having been expressly told by Dustin that he was only allowed to snoop if he never bothered them. “ You’re telling me that the Maria Hargrove is here? In Hawkins?”

“Yeah, I- she’ll be in town for the next few days,” Max says, a little thrown off guard, “but that’s not my point, I was saying that-“

“This is major. I mean, where is she? What’s she doing here?” Steve’s talking fast, his tone sounding like a cross between frantic and pissed off. “I need some more to work with here, Max.”

“Well she’s here for Billy, obviously, and I think she mentioned the Motel 6.” Max explains quickly, trying to get back to the point at hand, “But really I-“

“How long is she here for?”

“Steve!” At least three of the kids yell at him at once, not only for breaking literally the only rule he was given when they let him have a walkie, but also for cutting Max off.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll butt out.” He says, seemingly chastened, but then he tries to add, “First can you tell me if-“

“Goodbye, Steve.” Dustin cuts in before the older boy can add a condition.

They wait until they’re sure he’s done before Will asks, “What was his problem?”

Now, Max knows why it concerns Steve, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’d just sit back and let the rest of the kids come up with whatever explanation they saw fit, and maybe talk to Steve about Maria later.

Mike snickers into his end, “Maybe he likes older women?”

Lucas scoffs, “That’s gross, man.”

After that, the conversation doesn’t linger for too long on Max’s problems beyond them making sure she’s okay and moving along to their usual topics of discussion, but just that little bit of concern is enough for her. Her friends were by no means professional therapists, but, thinking over the newest gossip and campaign ideas leaves her mind occupied with something other than dwelling on the negative, and that’s enough.

One of the hardest things she’d been dealing, was fear that if she allowed herself to be happy, to focus or to think about anything other than her sadness over her brother, she was going to forget him.

But spending the night talking with her friends about games and teenager drama, she can’t help but feel that it’s just overall better to focus on the good things in life rather than to keep reopening the wound by dwelling on everything miserable.

Two days, a reportedly passive aggressive introduction to Steve Harrington, and many hours spent at her son's graveside later, Maria calls from her room at the Motel 6 to tell Max she’s leaving for California.

She says she feels she’s overstayed her welcome, and that she’s had enough time to made her peace. There’s nothing left for her in Hawkins, so it’s time to go back home.

Max asks her, “Will you be back soon?”

The question basically answers itself; if Maria could leave her behind ten year old when he was begging her to stay, it only made sense that she could leave him behind with ease, now that he’s eighteen and six feet under. The only reason Max really feels the need to ask is in case it might change her mind.

“If I can make it.” It’s an ambiguous enough answer that she knows it means no, but she supposes she can live with that. Just knowing that she got Maria to come back to Billy at all is what mattered.

What a shame though, that it took her son dying young, killed at the cusp of his adulthood, to bring her back around. What a shame that she couldn’t face the consequences of her actions before it was too late.

But it was never really about Maria anyways, Max couldn’t have cared less if she got her closure, or made her peace, as she had put it. It was all for Billy.

It would seem anyways, that these days, most things Max did were.

Because no matter where it was that his soul had ended up, she knows she can do better, can keep growing knowing that she did right by him, and continues to do so every day.

It is for this reason, in honor of her big brother Billy, as well as for her own sake, that Max made it her goal to do her best to honour Christmas in her heart, and try to keep it all the year.

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