#time is an illusion and we are fools to worship it

[sapphic-sasuke]

snippet from my new hashimada oneshot ‘in their dreams they sleep with the moon.’

“Are you challenging me, Hashirama?” Madara bellows, Rinnegan expanding and face twisting into a sneer. “You dare challenge me? I possess power so great I could split this earth into two with my strongest attack.”

From afar, Hashirama’s form flickers, and Madara hesitates, because while his soul is an empty husk, no longer bleeding out for anyone except ghosts, he can still feel that pure, overbearing pressure of Hashirama’s chakra. He’s real.

Hashirama denies him the violence he craves. “I don’t want us to fight again. That’s enough.”

Madara has not fought anyone since the world has come to a standstill, in its process of rebirth. To him, fights are what makes him come to life, heart blazing like his most powerful fire jutsu, decimating all that is in front of him. Only Hashirama sparks that primal delight deep in his gut, gives him back just as strong and never falters.

Hashirama never denies him if he pushes hard enough.

So why now?

“I’ll make you fight me!” he decides, charging forward with an attack at the ready. He uses a fire jutsu that Hashirama easily dodges, and he deflects the barrage of shuriken with mokuton that have a life of its own, wood at the ready to shield him at all costs.

“What will fighting do now?” Hashirama asks, a tone he’s never heard before seeping into his voice. It sounds anguished, stranded and weak. “I’ve been fighting my whole life. Everything is over now. Can’t we sit and reminisce together like old friends? That’s all I want, Madara. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Madara’s mouth parts and closes, tense and strung. He lets go of the hand signs at the ready and his eerie ringed eyes focus on Hashirama’s form. He looks tired and incorporeal, like he would be shimmering and flickering at his peripheral. He is not grand and divine anymore, like that figure Madara would gladly worship and laud for all his existence.

The sight angers him. This is not who Hashirama is to him, a weak fool who only wants companionship at the end of the world, a man who too seeks the end of human suffering like him, but unlike Madara has failed terribly, and is witnessing the consequences of such failure: beings suspended in tiny universes of their own, all the wirings and neurons in their brain under an illusion so strong it breaks the constraints of dimensions.

“You will fight me,” Madara decides. Hashirama’s face twists, and he ignores it. “In order to undo Infinite Tsukiyomi, you have to fight me. Isn’t that right? But you haven’t yet taken the chance to do so. Perhaps you are waiting for me to grow weaker as the years pass, but that will never happen. Like the sun and like that red moon, I am eternal. The only way to free this world and emerge victorious is to fight me.”

They are on opposing sides. Madara is not controlling the kyuubi this time. It is only them. They alone exist and matter. Nobody else does. Madara feels the first vestiges of euphoria awaken from its deep slumber.

“Will you dance with me, Hashirama?”

Hashirama presses his hands together, and this prayer seems more desperate than the rest. Wood emerges from underneath the shallow waters and begins striking outwards towards him.

“If that is what will appease you.”

[wellthebardsdead]

Fools prayer pt9

Part 8 here

———

Nerevar: *holding Vivec upright as the two walk through the temple to the communion chamber of the good daedra* you should be resting Vehk-

Vivec: *leaning against him as exhaustion overwhelms him once more, mixing with the effects voryns blood had left in his body* I can’t- I need to confirm what I saw. I saw them, all three- they’re trapped, I need to know, I have to kn- *gasps as nerevar scoops him up with ease, holding him bridal style* n-neht-

Nerevar: you’re in no state to walk, I’ll carry you…

Vivec: I… th-thank you. *sighs and leans into his touch. His feelings of unworthiness and guilt giving way to familiarity in his comfort* I… I have to be sure… maybe the dream was a lie. Maybe there’s still hope.

Nerevar: I hope so, but… if lady Azura called for you then… maybe she’ll answer you… my prayers to her were left unanswered.

Vivec: *stomach twisting into knots* that’s not a good sign… *looks up at the giant doors as the guards open them for the them. Some casting perplexed glances their way, confused as to why nerevar and vivec are so close knowing all that’s happened, the others either unbothered or simply informed of the earlier events of that day*

Nerevar: *steps into the chamber and feels dread creep further into his soul as he feels no presence from any of the good daedra* it’s quiet… *looks around the room as the doors close leaving them in total darkness* the torches didn’t light?…

Vivec: *holds out one of his hands casting a small fireball, half expecting to see voryns face appear from the shadows but seeing nothing beyond Nerevar and his gentle eyes reflecting his magics light* I don’t think… they’re here anymore… *tosses the flame into one of the large bowls of oil, igniting it and letting its flame travel around to the others, illuminating the dark space* maybe their reach can’t go beyond the mountain-

Nerevar: n-no don’t say that, we have to try, maybe they’re just fighting to free Mephala if what we saw was true. They’d- they’d never abandon us. *sets him down before azuras statue*

Vivec: *ears slowly shifting, picking up the doubt in Nerevars words and tone, wondering if he too felt the want to succumb to voryns requests and offers, wondering if it was enough to bring the Hortator into questioning the faith that lead him to walk as himself once more after all he’d suffered through* just… be prepared… if they are bound to him, he could reach us just as easily…

Nerevar: I’m aware… *sighs and walks to azuras altar, placing incense and dried flowers as an offering before joining vivec on the floor, kneeling quietly as he opens his mind and closes his eyes* Azura, lady of twilight, I’ve done as you asked. I brought vivec to y-

“Too late… it’s too late…”

Vivec: Boethia?… Azura? No- it’s not- neht? Nerevar-?! *opens his eyes to find himself no longer in the temple or beside nerevar* n-neht?

Nerevar: lady Azura?… *opens his eyes to find himself no longer beside Vivec, but instead, voryn*

“They belong to me now.”

Voryn: *smiles at him fondly, his lips moving to the words but speaking with azuras voice*

“To the heart of creation we are bound as we long wished to be, Boethia worshipped the scarab, lorkhan, the true creator, she wished to become him. Mephala, admired his lies and deceit as he spun his perfect world with the threads of time. And Azura wished to be loved by all of his creation. We are happy. This is no punishment. This is a blessing.”

Nerevar: *frozen in place as he stares at voryn, his mind cracking like glass as he struggles to discern reality from illusion, unable to fathom his closest friend would be back like this, that he could do this* n-no I-I don’t- no Mephala she- I- h-how did you trick them? How could you do this to them?! This is no blessing this is madness voryn!!!

Voryn: *grins looking up from him to the statues*

Nerevar: *looks up and barely contains his horrified scream as he sees the stone replaced with the princes themselves, their bodies ripped open and their rib cages formed around the heart of creation, bound by vines of roses, bloodied silken webs, and the still coiling and twisting bodies of snakes. All of them groaning, all of them powerless, all of them slowly turning to ebony as their power seeps further out of them and into the heart of creation, the heart of the scarab, voryns, heart* wh-what have you done?

Voryn: *smiles as he suddenly looms over him, his slender hands sliding around the hortators neck and cupping his jaw to tilt his head back and meet his hypnotising gaze* I did what was necessary. They tricked poor, naive Vivec into killing us. They didn’t answer my prayers for salvation as the heart corrupted me and drove me insane. They allowed me to become dagoth ur, and they rebirthed you time, And time again, just to force you to do their bidding for them. *gently strokes his face and runs his other hand through his mowhawk* like this, they can harm you no more. And at last, they can finally serve their people as they serve me. Vehk spoke the truth, for when he and the tribunal ruled, our people were loved and cared for, their needs were met, their prayers were answered. Together we can do the same nerevar, we ca- AAAAAGHHH!!!

Nerevar: *stares in utter shock as the head of a familiar, leathery spear punctures through voryns chest where his heart should be, and behind him holding it, vivec* V-Vehk!

Vivec: *eyes glowing white having seen through the illusion of the house of shadow, scowling as he grabs voryn by his hair pulling him back further onto the spear* GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!!!

Voryn: *grits his teeth into an irritated, but eerily satisfied grin* so this is what nerevar felt when you betrayed him. *smirks as his third eye glows a vibrant, hypnotising red* you’ve always been so annoyingly clever Vehk… why can’t you see reason this one time when it could change the lives of our kin forever?… don’t you want them to be happy? Don’t you want to atone for all you’ve d-Ghhgh *looks down again as vivec let’s go of his hair and stands there, looking in front of voryn in shock* n-nerevar?…

Nerevar: *face inches from voryns as he drives his lance through him* this isnt right, this isn’t the real you, you’re not him, you’re not my voryn.

*deathly silence*

Voryn: … *slowly withers away into a swirling, shadowy mist as tears fall from his eyes, and all light within the chamber turns a bone chilling red* I tried being reasonable.

*BOOM!!!*

Vivec: *staggers back, hitting the ground hard as the heart held aloft by the good daedras bodies pulses like a deafening drum* w-we have to get out of here! *grabs nerevars arm*

Voryn: I tried being kind.

*BOOM!!!*

Nerevar: *stands and pulls vivec to his feet before lifting him into his arms as the ground beneath them begins to split open revealing a burning, glowing heat from beneath as magma bubbles up from between the cracks* the door?! Where’s it gone?!

Voryn: all I wanted was what was best for you!! Why won’t you let me help you?!

*BOOM!*

Azura: *suddenly turns her gaze down to nerevar and vivec as a final tear wells in her eyes, one final parting blessing*

Voryn: *too lost in his rage to notice the good daedra* If you won’t come Willingly. ILL BRING YOU TO ME MYSELF!!!

*BOOM!!!*

Azura: good luck, my Hortator. *smiles as the tear falls from her face and swallows nerevar and vivec into its embrace as her entire form tenses, and becomes solid ebony*

*a few seconds later*

Temple guard: they’ve been in there a while.

Temple guard 2: well the Hortator seemed worried, maybe the good daedra have a task for him.

Temple guard: maybe they’re killing vivec after all.

Temple guard 2: or sleeping with him…

Temple guard: …

Both of them: *open the doors a crack to have a peek, only for the both of them to get taken out as a flood of perfumed water gushes out of the chamber*

Vivec: *coughs as he crawls out seconds later, nerevar crawling out beside him* …no… no… What have I done?… it’s too late, it’s too late…

Nerevar: *coughs up another mouthful of water and slowly opens his eyes to see his reflection in the ripples against the marbled floor, his face giving way between each one to voryns smiling grin and glowing eyes* … n-no… *chokes out a sob and falls to the floor as a sense of hopeless dread and heartbreak consumes him*

*Several hours later*

Vivec: *staring out the window of nerevars room, knowing the sun will be up soon but now too afraid to sleep despite the lingering exhaustion luring him back further and further into the pillows of the hortators bed* …I took it when I saw the mask… in your office earlier…

Nerevar: *holding muatra, trying to inspect it for any clues of voryns presence* I figured… I’m not mad if that’s what you’re wondering… I’m… im glad you took it. Gods only know what voryn would have done to us if I’d of let him take hold of my mind.

Vivec: thank you for bringing your lance… I could feel him pulling at the corners of my mind…

Nerevar: … *sighs and sets it down before sitting on the bed and rubbing his eyes* is it wrong… that I… I wanted to give in?…

Vivec: *glances at him from across the bed* …I was hoping you’d have an answer to that same question… I wanted to. So… so badly…

Nerevar: *looks back at him with tired, but gentle and understanding eyes* …

Vivec: he… he had me believing I could fix my mistakes… that I could heal everyone who needed it. That I could rid the temple of corruption that… *sighs* that I could make you happy…

Nerevar: … *crawls across the bed and sits beside him, fixing one of the newly laid bandages across his still fresh wounds as he takes his hand* he promised me the same… *sighs* we… we’ll figure this out together… I promise you, Vehk… We’ll rid the temple of corruption, we’ll fix everything on our own, we just… we just have to find a way to deal with him and save the good daedra first…

Vivec: *staring at his hand in his before slowly looking up and meeting his gaze* I thought I’d know everything when becoming a god… but… I still don’t know how you can always be so hopeful… I always envied that of you.

Nerevar: *smiles fondly at him* you don’t know? Impossible, you taught me yourself.

Vivec: I did?… hm… *looks down with an amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips* perhaps you’ll need to remind me of what I’ve forgotten then…

Nerevar: … *gently lifts his chin to meet his gaze once more* …

Vivec: … *leans forward a little, testing the waters, before smiling and falling into his arms as nerevar gladly let’s him move closer* neht…

Nerevar: *lays back into the pillows holding him close, running his hand through his short, cloud like hair* shhhh, stay with me tonight, Vehk…

*meanwhile outside*

‘Temple Guard’: *holding a tray of tea, peering into the room before stepping back and nodding to the other guards* Ah, it seems sleep took them before I arrived. I’ll return when they wake.

Ordinators: *both nod and hold their positions as normal*

‘Temple Guard’: *turns and leaves, walking not to the kitchens, but to the accomodations for house dres, dropping his disguise as he enters and bows on his hands and knees* my lord.

Sen Dres: *moaning and whining as his personal healers tend to the hundreds of open wounds across his back and legs, smirking between blissed and pained cries knowing he’s making them uncomfortable by getting off from the pain* Ahmnnn? *lifts his head looking at his spy* well, did you find anything?

Dres Spy: *staying on his hands and knees just to avoid looking at the display before him* y-yes my lord… the good daedra are in peril from what I heard, but-

Sen Dres: *interest already peeked* but?

Dres Spy: the Hortator and vivec… they discussed overthrowing the temples system, to ‘rid it of corruption.’ As they- they-

Sen Dres: as they what? Speak up!

Dres Spy: a-as they shared each others company in Nerevars bed.

Sen Dres: *eyes widening in surprise for a moment, before narrowing in a cruel, dark grin* oh~? How… interesting.

[iwasbored777]

I'm thinking about Multiplication again (yeah one of my favourite episodes ever why not) and how smart Lila was to slowly build her "I love Ladybug" personality cuz she defended Ladybug better than everyone else in the class and also showed why she and Chloé are so different - cuz Chloé wasn't trying to fake it she just said what she thinks and of course no one will take her seriously and doesn't anymore because she's just whining and repeats the same thing in every episode - but Lila was being sweet and nice and she was saying the truth of course but she didn't mean it and the class was like "aaawww she's right we should believe in Ladybug" and then in Illusion how Lila joined the squad to help Ladybug and Chat Noir and acted like a bigger person in front of Marinette and Marinette had to accept her cuz if she didn't Marinette would look like a worse person here - just like Chloé in Multiplication - cuz Lila already build herself a story and Marinette had too. And also how Marinette was smarter than Chloé cuz Chloé didn't learn anything from Lila and she continued talking trash about Ladybug but Marinette decided to fake it and make it look like she forgot Lila while dying inside.

Like I said Lila does have a story that can fool people and two faces - if I didn't know her the way she spoke in Multiplication was so sweet and what she said THE THING I'VE BEEN SAYING ALL THE TIME would literally make me take her into my Maribug worship cult without a second thought - but Marinette is still their friend whom they know better and they should believe her regardless.

[mementomori-demimonde]

oh no worries at all!!! would just love to read more jealous zelda/ lilith cause you write them both so well😭 HANDS DOWN🙇🏻‍♀️

Since I have my hands full with ongoing wips I thought it would be a great idea to add a little os to the list; it took me like 20 minutes cause I was inspired tho! Canon complaint and jealousy angst because these two ladies call for power dynamics when a past relationship sex is implied. Slightly NSFW. Hope you like this!

From a dark corner in her room, Lilith is lurking. She’s watching Zelda get changed in perfect silence, her leopard shirt stained with dried blood, her hands and pencil skirt soiled with dirt; she looks exhausted with her hair disheveled, like she’s been through too much in too little time.

She looks like she’s in need of a good fuck and the burning pain of rejection makes Lilith even more ravenous to be the one who gets to wreck her. She waits for Zelda to remove her ruined clothes and only when she’s only in her lace bra and matching panties, she comes out from her hiding place.

“Excellent performance in the graveyard.” She asks, her voice low.

Zelda gasps, turning around with a sudden movement. Her green eyes shoot darts.

“What are you doing here?” She snarls, not even attempting to cover the body Lilith knows by the inch. “I thought I made it clear: we don’t need you.”

“Yes.” Lilith sighs dramatically, pacing around the room with the sole purpose of getting closer to the witch without looking threatening. “You abandoned me when I most needed you; you worship Hecate now.”

“Jealous?” Zelda asks and, not satisfied, she has the audacity to chuckle.

Lilith all but glares at her. Yes, she is jealous. Yes, she feels betrayed not only because Zelda has fooled her with the illusion of a Church of Lilith in her name, choosing another deity to pay to, but because she’s also betrayed their unspoken path of being allies and casual sex partners since the night of the exorcism.

The truth is that Lilith wants to make her pay for her betrayal. The truth is also that she needs Zelda to rise again, defeat the Dark Lord and claim the crown.

She walks around her, gazing at her in a predatory manner. She makes sure Zelda can feel her hot breath against the back of her neck, the warmth of her skin lapping at her bare back; Lilith draws impossibly close but never enough to touch her.

“Tell me, Zelda, what does she give you that I didn’t?”

“She gives us protection.” The witch breathes out and it’s clear that her voice is already affected. Maybe she feels guilty and tries to hide it behind her proverbial pride, maybe her memory is flooded with images of the past, of their long nights of sex. “She brought Hilda back.”

“Don’t you think I should get a thank you for that?” Lilith purrs, stopping right behind her. They’re almost the same height, and still, it feels like the demoness is towering over her.

“Whatever for?”

“When you call upon Hecate, you call upon the very source of witchcraft.” Finally, she touched her neck, pushing away red tresses off Zelda’s shoulder. Her breath is hot against her skin. “Since I was the first witch, you call upon me.”

“Hecate is above you.” The other replies, the struggle to keep her composure now clear in her voice; she shivers.

“Perhaps,” Lilith admits. “But I’m here and she’s not. Hecate is just an idea, something impalpable while me… I’m very much real. Besides, nobody can make you feel the way I do.”

Zelda can only close her eyes when she feels the demoness’ hands on her body. She squeezes one of her breasts possessively while the other hand crawls down her front, sliding inside her panties without warning. Her fingertips feel like liquid fire.

“Lilith-” It’s something between a gasp and a moan, maybe a pleading whimper to continue, and that’s what makes the demoness stop.

“Come back to me, Zelda. You know how sweet my gifts are.” She murmurs in her ears. Unhurriedly, she withdraws her hand, earning a discontent glare from Zelda and when she steps in front of her, Lilith smirks.

The witch swallows thickly, feeling the discomfort of the unsatisfied release twitch in her lower belly. Pride spikes inside her once again.

“What if I don’t want to worship you?” She challenges, lifting her chin.

Lilith loves how strong she is. She can already taste how powerful they can be together, if they only try for real, this time. But Lilith has begged her already, tasted humiliation on her tongue and it was intense and destructive just like the memory of Zelda’s fingers on her own body, and she won’t make the same mistake again.

“My patience is limited, I’d hate to see you fall by my hand when the time comes.” She warns, drawing so close to her that their mouths almost touch. Lilith bares her teeth, reminding the witch how sharp they are, proving to her that she won’t hesitate to use them, if necessary. She already did that in the past - even though in a different circumstance. She would love to do that again, taste the warm blood pouring from Zelda’s skin as she writhes and chase a release by Lilith’s hand. She hopes those days aren’t gone forever. “Remember, Zelda: soon, I will wear the crown I’m owed and on Doomsday, I will keep in mind those who wronged me. Don’t be amongst them or I swear you’ll burn through the flames of Hell until you recall to whom you belong.”

Lilith tried not to falter when Zelda’s eyes darkened considerably and her lips curled up into a daring smirk.

“I’d love to see you try.”

[asgardianfemmefatale]

( AN EMERALD TIARA, THE GAZE AND VOICE OF A SIREN, FINGERS FLEXING AND CONTORTING WITH MAGIC )▸ welcome to latverion, AMORA (ENCHANTRESS). it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 1000+ and use SHE/HER pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as singer, or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution.

ABOUT BASICS

FULL NAME: Amora

ALIAS: Enchantress, Goddess of Love, Beauty & Lust.

AGE: 1000+

AFFILIATIONS: Asgard. She often flips between anti-hero and villain.

GENDER AND PRONOUNS: Female & She/Her

FACE CLAIM: Svetlana Khodchenkova

IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS

POINT OF ORIGIN: As Amora is sadly not in the MCU as of yet, she will mainly have some comic based history. She has been in the comics for a very long time so I will just be doing broad strokes. Most of her characterisation will come from Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes series where she did get a lot of development. However, her canon will work in MCU events as it is relatively easy to work things into her canon as Amora is somewhat distant with Asgardians but she is well known.

ABILITIES/SKILLS: Amora is an Asgardian goddess and as such, she possesses all natural gifts bestowed to an Asgardian as her senses and physiology is superhuman, superhuman longevity, healing factor, speaking all languages through Allspeak. What is unique to Amora is her knowledge and her skills in witchcraft and sorcery. She is noted as being one of Asgard’s most powerful magic users as well as one of the most powerful in all the Nine Realms. Her skills have allowed her to surpass Karnilla and even cause fear for Asgardians who dare come across her. With her magic, Amora can but not limited to powerful spell casting, energy projection, teleportation, levitation/flight, portal creation, glamouring/illusion casting, transmutation, paralysis, force fields, life/soul absorption, time disruption, telekinesis, telepathy, hypnosis, manipulation of the elements and astral projection to name a couple. Perhaps what is most noticeable about Amora is her supernatural beauty, her beauty bewitching Asgardians, mortals and other creatures alike. She is known for using her beauty to manipulate others into doing her bidding or acting irrationally. Many people have fought over Amora, which she finds entertaining. Having built her power on seduction, Amora has manipulated and wormed her way into the hearts of many powerful individuals who all paid the price for falling for her tactics. As such, Amora is worshipped as the goddess of love, lust, and beauty, being described as the most beautiful of Asgard and is worshipped by many. Aside from her powers, Amora is noted for her cunning and tactics, proving to be skilled in manipulation. Do not be fooled, though Amora doesn’t like to get too involved in direct conflict, Amora often surprises people with her combat skills, especially when it involves using her magic in a fight.

HAVE THEY BROUGHT ANY FAMILY OR PETS WITH THEM: Amora has no one she holds dead with her. Skurge doesn’t count as a pet, right?

ANY HEADCANONS YOU WANT OTHERS TO KNOW: 

Amora is worshipped on Asgard as the Goddess of Love, Lust and Beauty.

She has been both a friend and an enemy to Asgard. She had conquered lands and property in Asgard enough so to make others wary.

Amora is a polarizing figure in Asgard, with some seeking her out for her advice and spells for love and beauty, while others fear her for her temper, famous for dishing out cruel punishments if she deemed worship unsatisfactory or because she is finds it fun. A famous story is that a man wished for her hand in marriage so he could bask in her beauty every moment, so she turned him into a tree, so he can always watch over her beauty.

Amora’s old estate was often surrounded by creatures that were once Asgardians which she had transformed through magic. Many were either seeking her love or those she deemed provided unsatisfactory worship.

Amora has a tense relationship with Asgard due to a deal that Odin made with the Frost Giants for a truce as long as they could have Amora. Amora was not consulted on this and was simply taken away. Using her hypnotic beauty to get herself released, she returned to Asgard on a rampage and swore to never come to their aid ever again.

Amora never did come back to their aid and thus why she was absent for many of the wars and events on Asgard. 

Amora is the only known Asgardian who practices witchcraft aside of traditional Asgardian magic.

QUESTIONNAIRE

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT EMPEROR DOOM? In public, Amora is a supporter of Doom’s regime. She believes it is nothing but spectacular. However, beneath that, its riles her and has left her seething. If anyone was to rule, it should of been her, not him. Of course, Amora is confident that she can change that. Doom wouldn’t be the first leader she had wormed her way in with.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THE BATTLES? ARE THEY TRYING TO AVOID THEM? OR ARE THEY EAGER TO JUMP IN? Amora often spectates at the battles but she doesn’t plan to get involved. As many of Midgard’s heroes haven’t met Amora, she wants to keep her talents tucked away for as long as she possibly can. However, she is an Asgardian, so she does enjoy a good violent battle, preferably to the death.

WHY HAS YOUR CHARACTER ACCEPTED THEIR JOB POSITION? WILL THEY USE IT TO GET CLOSER TO DOOM? OR WILL THEY USE IT EXPLOIT HIM? OR DO THEY SIMPLY LIKE THEIR JOB? Amora believes she was given her job due to her siren like qualities, her beauty being able to captivate a crowd and bring them in with her allure. Though she loves the adoration, she hates that she has essential became Doom’s trapped songbird. Amora of course has played the damsel who bewitches the “hero” and she plans to use her allure to get as close to Doom as possible. If not to kill him and take over, then to manipulate his actions and essentially rule through him. Amora did always have big ambitions.

[ofglories]

"He has a great destiny on him," said Pryderi, impressed. "Maybe one that the rest of us could do without. Why should I think that I know him too well?" Taliesin did not answer, and Manawyddan rubbed his chin. "I remember now; a thing that Mâth once said. He knows already that this child has come to undo his work and do his own." "He knows and accepts," said Taliesin. "What can be hidden from Mâth the Ancient? In the Eastern World there is a God, men say, who loathed change and its evils as Mâth does, and so wished to keep His people at peace and in the Golden Age. So He forbade them to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, and was disobeyed. But Mâth is a wiser God than that; He will not forbid his people to do what, soon or late, they are bound to do, and so lay upon them the sin of disobedience." "That is because Mâth still wears a human body," said Manawyddan, "and can speak for Himself, instead of through the mouths of priests who cannot fully understand His Word." Pryderi stared. "Mâth is a man. A man of Illusion and Glamour, but human. He eats and sleeps and does all the things the rest of us do. When his time comes he will die." "All Gods die," said Taliesin. "By dying as a man a God can sometimes show most clearly that He is a God. But now the time comes for Mâth to wihdraw from earth and cease to be worshipped for awhile, for now men want fiercer Gods." "As it may be that that Eastern God is," said Manawyddan, "for He is a Father, while we bow to the Mothers. But I do not believe those who call Him jealous. The jealousy must be on His priests. No God would ever be such a fool as to wish to keep His people forever in ignorance, for the ignorant can never choose between good and evil and so master neither." "All this goes over my head," said Pryderi, and scratched it. "But anyhow it will take this Gwydion of yours, who sounds like an upsetting sort of person, some time to grow up and begin making trouble." So Taliesin the Much-Remembering left them, he who has had many births and will have many more. Who may be somewhere among us even now, though nobody knows where. At least nobody who will tell... Pryderi made one more attempt to keep him. "Indeed," he urged with his loveliest grin, "if you want to be around when somebody is rearing a son, it is with us you should stay. Kigva and I would have had a boy before now, if I had not had to go to war, and it is no time we will be losing now. Indeed, it may be that we already have one," he mused hopefully. "That was a good night, our last before I left Dyved. Triplets might have come of it." But again Taliesin only shook his head and smiled...

"The Song of the Rhiannon", The Mabinogion tetralogy- Evangeline Walton.

[rodine]

1201w , imagine being loved by me

stars are simple creatures.

— fragments of the Nothing molded into an ever-lasting brightness. their burning crowns, their flowing faces of dense magma,

the loop of a solar flare the whip-snap of their tongues as they ramble from beneath a scale. imploringly. incessantly. 

demanding, clumsy little things,

i burn because they need me to burn.

when their crowns begin to rust and they complain about the frost bite from the snap of our God’s wings, when their tiny cosmic bodies begin to shiver. there’s something there i can never touch. when the flesh beneath a scale ices over despite—

there’s…something there. i can never touch it. i'm an imposter of protection waiting for them to tip off the edge of night and devour them when the last granule of sand hits the bottom of their hourglass. we were trapped in an illusion of eternity, another page in Time’s endless comedy. 

i’ve learned even stars can bleed —

the pen stops quick at the click of the door closing. kasimir pulls his gaze from the aging pages of his twine bound journal  to the blurred silhouette in his pc monitor. he watches molotov toe out of his shoes, discard his bag by the bedside; watches the last bit of daylight and noon’s heat roll off his shoulders. he could acknowledge him, but lately kasimir has been learning a new sort of patience. not the kind where years are but a wink of the clock; but the sort where minutes feel like seconds and all he can think about is filling the gaps with something more tangible, like a touch. a word. neither of which would be particularly gentle, as his affectations always come with a certain bite (no pun intended). but desires are a strange thing to reign, especially for a creature that already has everything.

his eyes pull back to the journal. the gush of running water passes under his ears. he flips the page to a fresh canvas. still yellowed, faintly scented of aged vanilla. his knuckles drag coarse, the pen scratches, its purity washed away with blue waves and black smears.

i’ve learned even stars can bleed. they can cry. bruise. scream. and all the while they’ll tuck themselves beneath a scale, just to feel you burn. 

so you burn for them. and for the first time, you burn them, too. and that also feels right.

for him, a celestial body. a molten core crammed into tender, pliant skin. unlike stars, he is all lines that bend and break. i have no mind for creation, but i find my hands wandering, willing his flesh to bear new shapes and colors and i think, not for the first time, that there’s a universe blooming at my fingertips. i imagine temples of worship erected on his tongue every time i whisper mottled praise against his lips. 

i have laughed at the evangelists. sat with the religious heretics. just for the hell of it. 

but i understand. now, i can see—

my fingers singed into his ribcage, until i can taste myself on his breath. 

or cutting into the rippling edges of his windpipe, i taste the silence on his lips. 

i can’t choose. both are equally undoing. 

(how do you call it…a fixation? an obsession? 

love is too sweet a word for what i feel. hunger? too simple.)

the hairs on kasimir’s nape rise, his shoulders round as he inhales. molotov passes from one side of the room to the next, and though he hasn’t touched him, kasimir feels the jagged edges of his incorporeal being shift toward the gravity within the star-thing. his eyes strain, fixed to the end of a stanza:

to look at him is ruining. i’ve heard that fools go blind from staring at the Sun. she becomes their god, the object of their veneration. keep it pretty. keep it whole. they’re obsessed with virtues of purity (boring).

but temples can be destroyed and still retain their beauty. to look means ruin, and i can’t curb the need to paint that on him. this sensation is familiar, yet unbearable. the remembering that is, 

knowing what will happen if i press too hard.

what happens when his clay body gives too much. 

i won’t invite Death to my table. they make for a rather dull company. 

i wish i could lie. it seems like a convenient skill. i could lie to myself —

to lie and say the prayers for his ruination that i carve into his throat with the shape of my hand, are just affections disguised in bloodlust.

it sounds fucked. we sound like we're running, leaping towards doom, dragging at one another, our mouths each other's color. mine his fiery red. his, my vanta black. 

yes, i think hunger is close enough. 

my teeth are sore. 

kasimir runs his tongue over his gums as he thinks about the ache, wonders if it's from the dentist’s vigorous flossing (he’d vaguely mentioned his teeth hurting and recalled in substantial detail the horror that painted molotov’s face. kasimir was so taken by the novelty of the expression that he hadn’t processed the urgency of the situation until molotov had sat on his belly, hooked his fingers into his cheeks, and practically shoved his head in his mouth to inspect his teeth. he booked a dentist appointment that same day.)

it had been no candy for a long, painful three days, even with kasimir reassuring molotov it was not the candy.

(then the dentist had pressed on his molars and it had turned out it had, in fact, been the candy.)

kasimir knew it was more than that, however. sure, he had been tucking away gushers and lollipops under his tongue more than usual. but how else to replicate the sweet rush of molotov’s blood? or the shatter and grind of his pretty bones?

it’s just this side of deranged, but how else to placate the starved parasite inside him if not by vorish fantasies? 

there’s a method to the—

gravity slips under kasimir's fingertips, crescent shapes forming in papyrus when a quiet touch ghosts across his nape. black valleys narrow in carnelian galaxies, destruction's eyes falling upon his favorite silhouette once more. 

the pen slips from kasimir’s fingers with a gentle clatter, a contrast to the wrap of his ink-soiled knuckles around molotov’s retreating wrist. there’s a hollow crack, the song the roll of his bones at the pressure of kasimir’s touch. they protest when he tugs molotov between the delta of his thighs, pressing his ear against the grey polyester pooled at his stomach. kasimir listens to his mortality, his fire-stroked palms crackling, thinking about burrowing themselves in molotov’s skin, just to feel him writhe closer.

he hears the thrum of the star-thing’s voice. but the words and their meaning are lost upon him as he thinks about scratching his still sore teeth on molotov’s belly, how the skin may split scarlet at the edges. 

the silver eloquence of his thoughts stretch into a vast dark noise, filled with nothing but the intent of his palms on molotov’s hips, bunching up worn fabric to press his mouth on his stomach, catching the thin skin beneath his navel.

molotov’s belly curls in on itself. kasimir nearly follows into its curves until slender fingers part the hair at his crown and tug. 

he rolls his eyes up at tov, mouth and nose unwilling to part from the damp cool of his body. he drags his gaze from the coral flush of summer in molotov’s cheeks to the question in his brows. kasimir stares at him, a bit empty like. he has no idea what the question is, and frankly, is too distracted by the stretched collar of molotov’s shirt to really care. nothing seems more pressing than getting molotov in his lap to gnaw at his shoulder for a bit. 

kasimir remembers the journal; the exercises prescribed by his brother-nephew-thing, with his big earnest (frankly, unnerving) eyes. “it might take off the edge, yes?”

molotov’s hip leans into kasimir’s palm as he mindlessly shifts his weight. it causes his skin to catch on the silver point of the god’s canine. the tiniest bead of red stains the white of it. it’s a bit pathetic, maybe, how his tongue passes over it and his entire body shudders for more. but it’s enough for kasimir to go “ah, fuck it.” before shoving aside the belongings on his desk to hoist molotov onto it, mouth searing a ragged line across the carve of his clavicles as he thinks of a more creative, fun way to take off the edge. 

[jth0rnt0n]

Letting Go

Once there lived a village of creatures along the bottom of a great crystal river. The current of the river swept silently over them all -- young and old, rich and poor, good and evil -- the current going its own way, knowing only its own crystal self.

Each creature in its own manner clung tightly to the twigs and rocks of the river bottom, for clinging was their way of life, and resisting the current was what each had learned from birth.

But one creature said at last, "I am tired of clinging. Though I cannot see it with my eyes, I trust that the current knows where it is going. I shall let go, and let it take me where it will. Clinging, I shall die of boredom."

The other creatures laughed and said, "Fool! Let go, and that current you worship will throw you tumbled and smashed against the rocks, and you will die quicker than boredom!"

But the one heeded them not, and taking a breath did let go, and at once was tumbled and smashed by the current across the rocks.

Yet in time, as the creature refused to cling again, the current lifted him free from the bottom, and he was bruised and hurt no more.

And the creatures downstream, to whom he was a stranger, cried, "See a miracle! A creature like ourselves, yet he flies! See the messiah, come to save us all!"

And the one carried in the current said, "I am no more messiah than you. The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare let go. Our true work is this voyage, this adventure."

But they cried the more, "Savior!" all the while clinging to the rocks, and when they looked again he was gone, and they were left alone making legends of a savior.

 -- from Illusions by Richard Bach

[monochromevt]

rant about alignments

in this rant I am attempting to, as appropriately as possible, explain something. Phi (Φ) is a Greek letter corresponding to the Hebrew letter Qoph (ק), the 19th hebrew letter, however if we consider Alef (א) to be 0 or unnumbered like the Fool (0) in Tarot, then Qoph is the 18th letter and corresponds to The Moon (XVIII) in Tarot. Moon is an easy anagram for my name, Mono (18). 18 in Hebrew Numerology corresponds to a word for Life. 18 is also a semiperfect number as the latter 3 of its divisors (3,6,9) add up to 18. [3,6,9] was a sequence of numbers that Nikola Tesla was obsessed with over the course of his life. Of course, 6 is 3+3 and 3*2, and 9 is 3+3+3 and 3*3. and 6*3 or 6+6+6 (666) also equals 18. The sum of all divisors of 18 is 21 which is 18+3. There are 21 Tarot, not counting the numberless Fool (0). Phi is also used mathematically to represent the golden ratio (~1.618 033) which was used by the Greeks as a way to calculate beauty. Phi often associated with Philosophy, a word with an often overlooked origin. The first Phi in the word for Philosophy does not relate to knowledge or wisdom, it relates to Love. Philosophy means “Love of Wisdom”. There are many mathematical implementations that use Phi, from magnetic flux and quantum wave functions, to angles, ecology, and psychology. I knew none of this. I as a creature was lost, asking who I was, what I was, and what I wanted. I decided to focus on Who I was. I could feel an idea of exactly Who I was but could not find any words for it. So I drew it, I picked up a pencil and drew a fine circle and it was wrong. I dragged a single straight line from above its top to below its bottom and it was right. For all the day and weeks and months after I was obsessed with the symbol (still am as you may be able to tell). It was my symbol. Within two lines I felt a connection to this circle with a single line bisecting it. In time I have come to call this either, “A bisect” or “Tempus Perfectum Prolatio Imperfectum” an existing symbol from old musical notation from the Medieval times, a symbol I had learned represented 3/2 time and some other details. AND OF COURSE, as I write this I notice that the Tempus Perfectum Prolatio Imperfectum COULD BE SEEN AS “semiperfect” in the same way as 18 is also considered mathematically semiperfect. Of course of course, this is all coincidence, it just has to be. BUT THEN WHAT A FUCKING COINCIDENCE THAT 18 HAS BEEN MY FAVORITE NUMBER FOR YEARS BEFORE I KNEW THIS ALL. What seemingly conniving fate brings all this together. Of course a person is more likely to notice patterns of the things they like and associate with but this feels like it goes a bit too far. Of course I may simply conclude that I am a genius and came to these conclusions through my fathomless intellect combined with numerical and occult fascinations. And while that is true, I feel like some conspiracy addict whose CERTAIN there’s something else here. Though it is an anagram, that fact that the NAME I chose for myself years ago when I first made my discord account corresponds to the 18th Tarot, The Moon. The actual moon of which, I had worshipped during my time as a wiccan, calling it Diana and trying to use it to achieve magic ritual in an attempt to actually escape reality. I invented a demon I would make an offering to, Abigail. On a Halloween night I begged to my invented demon in Latin, offering it blood and souls to send me to another world. No demon appeared to whisk me into another world, I was only met with the profound and internal sadness of coming to terms with the fact none of my wiccan beliefs had ever yielded more than minor illusions and self-deception. Dearest reader, I thank you for reading this far because I have a little guess for you. How many souls did I offer Abigail? My own single soul? Two or Three from others? Eighteen. I offered 18 souls from people who I received the explicit agreement to have possession of their souls. now finally, my mind is all but silent. I see a placid lake at night, something dark floats in the waters and I do not know what. But I don’t know if I need to know.

[impossiblycolorfulpanda]

Ozai: Iroh the wise. You look pathetic. Iroh: Have your laugh. I deserve as much for failing to to see you for the fool you are. Ozai: Sons do take after their fathers. Only a fool would be your apprentice. After all, none of this would have happened without you. It was your ambition, ruthlessness and bloodlust that inspired me to go further then you ever dared. Iroh: I admit. My arrogance had brought chaos to more nations then one and my cowardice compelled me to distant myself from Azula because I saw too much of my former self in her. But what were YOU seeking? You secretly gave the earth soldiers enigmatic directions so they could ambush us and have my son, your own nephew, killed. You forced Ursa to help you assassinate our father. You erased me from the world only to take my birthright. You made Azula make a fool out of herself countless times. Her new minions disguised as Kemurikage betrayed her only to reveal they were YOUR minions and they set you free and you now continue your path of destruction and bloodshed. I should have known you were behind the Kemurikage attacks all along. Is this the answer you've been looking for? Ozai: All that and more. I’m simply caring on what you, yourself, began. I knew I would have to destroy the old world and plant seeds for a new world to flourish and finally put an end to all borders, nations and illusion of separation and allow the natural order to take control. With my firebending or without it. I'd thought you'd praise me but all you ever do is hold me back. I understand though, unlike me, you have a soul. Consumed by the jealousy you feel towards the second son who surpassed you. Iroh: Ozai, foolish brother of an even more foolish man. You have surpassed nothing, only proved what little we both know. I'm afraid any world you create would be an empire of ignorance. That is why you and your coup are destined to fall.

Ozai: And what is to become of you in my supposed inevitable downfall?

Iroh: It’s really not that complicated. I have some red in my ledger, I wish to cleanse it.

Ozai: Really? Can you cleanse so much red? How much does Zuko’s new allies know about Lu Ten and his mother? How you’re son was into some very nasty things growing up. How his mother was barely a mother at all and was just one of your dozen “play-things” you claimed for yourself after your many, bloody, earth village raids with the rough rhinos over the years. Their ages ranging from 13-17, none of them were that enthusiastic with you’re “charms,” and you gleefully executed them all once they’re services were finished or just out of boredom.

Iroh: ...

Ozai: To say you have red in your ledger is a vast understatement and you think replacing a dead son no more virtuous then yourself with my own and grooming him into doing what you’re too lazy and afraid to do yourself will change anything? For you’re whole life, you lie and kill, in the service of liars and killers. You desire be just like the avatar because of some “holier than thou” code you’ve been telling everyone but you’ve always desired to be a god, to have others worship you. Hold habits die hard, don’t they?

Iroh: ...If only I could have helped you...

Ozai: Hmph, you have. For I will never forget these words you said to me after you betrayed my trust and slaughtered the one I loved the most: "Great men are not peacemakers. Great men are conquerors."

[holdonendure]

Brothers and Sisters

All the various forms of modern idolatry have one thing at their core: self. We no longer bow down to idols and images. Instead we worship at the altar of the elohiym of self. This brand of modern idolatry takes various forms.

First, we worship at the altar of materialism which feeds our need to build our egos through the acquisition of more “stuff.” Our homes are filled with all manner of possessions. We build bigger and bigger houses with more closets and storage space in order to house all the things we buy, much of which we haven’t even paid for yet. Most of our stuff has “planned obsolescence” built into it, making it useless in no time, and so we consign it to the garage or other storage space. Then we rush out to buy the newest item, garment or gadget and the whole process starts over. This insatiable desire for more, better, and newer stuff is nothing more than covetousness. The tenth commandment tells us not to fall victim to coveting: "You shall not covet your neighbor's house. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or his manservant or maidservant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor" (Exodus 20:17). YAHUAH doesn’t just want to rain on our buying sprees. He knows we will never be happy indulging our materialistic desires because it is Satan’s trap to keep our focus on ourselves and not on Him.

Second, we worship at the altar of our own pride and ego. This often takes the form of obsession with careers and jobs. Millions of men—and increasingly more women—spend 60-80 hours a week working. Even on the weekends and during vacations, our laptops are humming and our minds are whirling with thoughts of how to make our businesses more successful, how to get that promotion, how to get the next raise, how to close the next deal. In the meantime, our children are starving for attention and love. We fool ourselves into thinking we are doing it for them, to give them a better life. But the truth is we are doing it for ourselves, to increase our self-esteem by appearing more successful in the eyes of the world. This is folly. All our labors and accomplishments will be of no use to us after we die, nor will the admiration of the world, because these things have no eternal value. As King Solomon put it, “For a man may do his work with wisdom, knowledge and skill, and then he must leave all he owns to someone who has not worked for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune. What does a man get for all the toil and anxious striving with which he labors under the sun? All his days his work is pain and grief; even at night his mind does not rest. This too is meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 2:21-23).

Third, we idolize mankind through naturalism and the power of science. We cling to the illusion that we are lords of our world and build our self-esteem to godlike proportions. We reject YAHUAH’S Word and His description of how He created the heavens and the earth, and we accept the nonsense of atheistic evolution and naturalism. We embrace the goddess of environmentalism and fool ourselves into thinking we can preserve the earth indefinitely when YAHUAH has declared that this current age will have an end: “But the day of the ADONAI will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. Since everything will be destroyed in this way, what kind of people ought you to be? You ought to live holy and godly lives as you look forward to the day of YAHUAH and speed its coming. That day will bring about the destruction of the heavens by fire, and the elements will melt in the heat. But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness” (2 Peter 3:10–13). As this passage states, our focus should not be on worshiping the environment but on living holy lives as we wait eagerly for the return of our ADONAI and SAVOIR. He alone deserves worship.

Finally, and perhaps most destructively, we worship at the altar of self-aggrandizement or the fulfillment of the self to the exclusion of all others and their needs and desires. This manifests itself in self-indulgence through alcohol, drugs, and food. Those in affluent countries have unlimited access to alcohol, drugs (prescription drug use is at an all-time high, even among children), and food. Obesity rates in the U.S. have skyrocketed, and childhood diabetes brought on by overeating is epidemic. The self-control we so desperately need is spurned in our insatiable desire to eat, drink, and medicate more and more. We resist any effort to get us to curb our appetites, and we are determined to make ourselves the elohiym of our lives. This has its origin in the Garden of Eden where Satan tempted Eve to eat of the tree with the words “you will be like YAH” (Genesis 3:5). This has been man’s desire ever since—to be elohiym and, as we have seen, the worship of self is the basis of all modern idolatry.

All idolatry of self has at its core the three lusts found in 1 John 2:16: “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.” If we are to escape modern idolatry, we have to admit that it is rampant and reject it in all its forms. It is not of YAHUAH, but of Satan, and in it we will never find fulfillment. This is the great lie and the same one Satan has been telling since he first lied to Adam and Eve. Sadly, we are still falling for it. Even more sadly, many churches are propagating it in the preaching of the health, wealth, and prosperity gospel built on the idol of self-esteem. But we will never find happiness focusing on ourselves. Our hearts and minds must be centered on YAHUAH and on others. This is why when asked what is the greatest commandment, YAHUSHA replied, “Love the ADONAI your YAHUAH with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” (Matthew 22:37). When we love the ADONAI and others with everything that is in us, there will be no room in our hearts for idolatry.

[dfroza]

A soundtrack for Saturday

the 26th of november (2022)

the 7th track on the 1994 album ‘mirrorings of every’ by 256

Living Daylights

do we feel better by creating and accomplishing things while here on earth?

well, yes, in a sense. when done with a state of innocence (humility) of heart & mind. we’re made (as male & female) in the image of our Creator who made the heavens and garden earth as the instrumental womb of the universe (where life grows from seeds)

and so we’re meant to find purpose and to dream

no matter the fear that exists in this world, or what stands contrary to Love in its True nature. this world is a war of faith and hope, fighting through the temporal state of things and seeing through illusion.

and surely, we need skilled people doing many different things to allow things to work. nobody is born with the ability to do these things, since everything must be developed with time and study and practice. it’s how life is. we each begin at the tiniest spark of conception to be protected in our mother’s womb, infused with a spirit that is eternal. to be here in a physical body for a set time. and there will be a resurrection of the dead at some point. some will be Judged to exist apart from Love and its sacred Light to be forever separated from it, a second death, and some will have found grace to be welcomed into the eternal with a new body that will never die. the spirit of man must be reborn. we’re each born into an old nature that resists God, subject to sin that leads to death. there is no escape from the prison of this, save that of the (illuminated) path of the Son. the physical body itself is what confines us to this temporal world, and so for those in Light being released from the body is actually being “set free”

it is “Home”

of course we don’t force it. we don’t choose to take our life from earth. we leave that in the capable Hands of our Maker just as in choosing our gender, to be a daughter or a son.

“Let us begin. The worship of the Eternal One, the one True God, is the first step toward knowledge.

Fools, however, do not fear God and cannot stand wisdom or guidance.”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 1:7 (The Voice)

[emersonmanandnature]

November 6, 2022

 Waiting

 Yearning, deception, forbidden acts, remember to sing loudly

In churches silent stillness, your faith has given it’s true worth

Nightmare’s always end in alley ways, in the homes of the

Desperate asking god to save their poor souls from more

Laws of avarice, wicked gifts of golden vice, resenting the

Mourners accusation of treacherous acts of violence, toward

Innocent blood, depleting of our natural resources in the hearts

-----

Of slavish desire, thoughtless and guiltless, the simplicity of  taking

From others for themselves, abuse of god’s single virtue, his truth,

His cross to bare, his path a glorious tortured liberation, his

Fellow martyrs rise and parade to the alter for communion with

His flesh and blood, in guilt they breath stale air in his presence

Above the alter of worship his sacrifice worth the pain of time

Now he is sacrificed daily with prayers demanding a sanctified

-----

life without guilt, as the priests have a compulsive need to be

our god in our presence, for sins overwhelming his sincerity

of forgiveness for we are washed of our sins for we are our

sins and jesus was just a man sacrificing himself so his earthly

father would see his true presence, a wish to die in his presence

as ancient gods, slumbering truth, powerless humans hesitant,

seeking trust a vanishing memento, our deceit in the

-----

powerless humans hesitant in fear not in the awareness of the

duplicity of thoughts perpetuating their vistas of grandeur

retreat from the confrontation of the senses in burrowing,

faithless, shallow defecation, as duty hides in the void of silent

despair, becoming other than this grouping of external chaos

accepting devilish aggression as god’s will, the hunger for his

love hinges on the dutiful act of blindness towards innocence

-----

deflecting the inkling of truth that wants to rise but driven

deeper into the void of ego’s desperate deception, giving the

faithful a touching of the flesh and the fools youthful disguise,

his single purpose, to see the worshipers consumed by madness,

not his son’s dutiful presence, oh how we suffer before leaving

paradise we hide under the illusion of tearful retribution given

credence to the power of suggestion, destroying the undercurrent

-----

of our will, they are sightless in their glorious lust, these men

of distractions, their lies whisper a coming messiah, the end

follows a nurturing disguise, in hate of oneself we seek to be

fodder, a sacrificial lamb, waiting patiently to take our master and

eat his flesh and raise the challis of his blood to the gods of hate

please be seated the glorious mass will soon start let us pray

oh god your silence deafening without cause as we slip into oblivion

[girls-and-honey]

29 for the book asks?

29: share a book that helped you evolve into the person you are now

Ooh okay I do have one for this - Illusions by Richard Bach. I'm not going to bother with a summary because that's not what I remember and not what changed the way I think. Specifically the part that stuck with me is a story told in the first chapter. I put the story under the cut if you want to read it, the language sounds a bit dated but it's the message I'm interested in.

For some context this book was lent to me at a time when I felt like I was behind in life and not capable of achieving at the level that was expected of me, while also being consistently praised for my intelligence and being told I was way smarter than people I considered brilliant and several levels above me in terms of accomplishments, intelligence, etc etc (usually by these people themselves, no one was shit talking each other lol). So basically major imposter syndrome and very little self-confidence.

Something about this little story just helped humanize the people I looked up to and for lack of a better phrase helped me see them as 'just some guy'. I stopped putting them on pedestals that towered over me and instead tried to understand them as peers, even those in positions considered superior to mine (think student/teacher...). I picked up some other perspectives from this story but that was the most important. It also helped me understand the importance of doing things and not remaining stagnant. Anyway I feel like I could talk about this for hours so I'll wrap it up here so as not to ramble too much!

bookish asks <3

"Once there lived a village of creatures along the bottom of a great crystal river. The current of the river swept silently over them all - young and old, rich and poor, good and evil, the current going its own way, knowing only its own crystal self. Each creature in its own manner clung tightly to the twigs and rocks of the river bottom, for clinging was their way of life, and resisting the current what each had learned from birth. But one creature said at last, 'I am tired of clinging. Though I cannot see it with my eyes, I trust that the current knows where it is going. I shall let go, and let it take me where it will. Clinging, I shall die of boredom.' The other creatures laughed and said, 'Fool! Let go, and that current you worship will throw you tumbled and smashed across the rocks, and you will die quicker than boredom!' But the one heeded them not, and taking a breath did let go, and at once was tumbled and smashed by the current across the rocks. Yet in time, as the creature refused to cling again, the current lifted him free from the bottom, and he was bruised and hurt no more. And the creatures downstream, to whom he was a stranger, cried 'See a miracle! A creature like ourselves, yet he flies! See the messiah, come to save us all!' And the one carried in the current said, 'I am no more messiah than you. The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare to let go. Our true work is this voyage, this adventure.' But they cried the more, 'Savior!' all the while clinging to the rocks, and when they looked again he was gone, and they were left alone making legends of a savior. "

[i-mybrunettelady]

Headcanon time: Blessings of the human gods

Okay okay I may have gotten myself hyped from the post @synchrosgw2 made about Lyssa (check here!!!) and though it’s god-related, it’s not about that theory, but yeah, inspo where inspo’s due.

But I did have thoughts about how being blessed by a certain god/dess manifests in real life. I hc there’s a social ritual of joining a church and declaring yourself blessed by that particular god at the age of 8; this is because most gifts manifest themselves by that age and if they haven’t, you kinda pick one (and changing churches if you’ve made a mistake is a bit of a pain in the ass honestly and involves tons of new ritualistic stuff.) There’s a grand celebration (if you can afford it) and there are families for whom this blessing is hereditary, or so it socially stands; this is most prevalent in priestly families and to give you an example, Nyra was named after her mother’s late cousin, Alysannyra Gwent, and lady Gwent was born in a family that mostly worships Lyssa -> her name being Alysannyra (which is translated as “to Lyssa (be) the glory.”) But this is social rules, not actual magical thing.

So how does it magically play out? Spoilers for PoF.

Simple. Enhanced abilities to do something that technically belongs in that god’s realm. Let’s see how this works on my two humans, Nyra and Ren.

1) Nyra was blessed by Lyssa, even if you’d not be too far off if you thought she was blessed by Dwayna due to her guardian magic (I hc there’s a link between Dwayna and light, hence her being a guardian deity.) Lyssa is usually associated with mesmers and water elementalists, illusion, water and beauty, but also chaos, and that’s where Nyra’s gift is. She thrives in chaos to a degree that’s not quite natural. She has a much easier time making sense in chaotic/high stress situations (even if she’s not immune to the effects of too much stress, as seen in Icebrood.)

Chaos also seems to be radiating off her; a combination of being a chaos-magnet and her personality brought about the disruption of the natural world order. As subtle as this gift is, it’s not without it’s impact.

2) Due to being an illusion-based mesmer, Ren thought for a long ass while her goddess was Lyssa too. But it took a trip to Abaddon’s temple in season 3 (a rewrite of the horrible Livia situation I’m working on that features gods sending visions, Nyra and Ren working together, maybe some Mirka in there too) for her to realise that no, her patron god was Abaddon all along; for all his death, he still affects some mortals by the residue power in the world that survived, what, 2 centuries after his death.

And it manifests in her ability to hide the truth aka lie. She is an exceptional liar. If we were to compare her and El, who are both great at lying, Ren beats him  because of this. You can’t really catch her tells and she seems to have an ability to track her own lies in a way that would fool 99% of the population. Again, it’s a combo of this + her personality that makes her so good at her job.

So, someone who was blessed by Balthazar might have an earned reputation of being unbeatable on the battlefield; someone blessed by Dwayna could be very very good at healing, Melandru could be very good at being a hunter to the point of being able to parallel norn, etc.

Does this mean that by Balty dying humanity was bereft of these gifts? No! Like with Abaddon, the number of people with Balty’s gifts will only be smaller, not non-existent, and other gods are still around and kicking, though priesthood of Balthazar would like to say otherwise. This is their main point for Nyra being a traitor of humankind but it’s like,, factually incorrect.

[rhysismydaddy]

Can you add me to the damnation tag list please? Thank you!! Also if you’re taking prompts: the song partition by Beyoncé, specifically the line “took 45 minutes to get all dressed up / and we ain’t even gonna make it to this club” for nessian or rowaelin

Rowan pulled at the collar of his shirt, frowning. He was already hot, and they weren’t even at the goddamn club. Hell, they hadn’t even left yet.

He was sitting in the car waiting for his wife, scrolling through his email and trying to resist the urge to back inside and throttle her. "Five minutes" his ass.

Even though he was irritated, he was used to this behavior. So was their driver, Ricky. When he'd told the stout man Aelin said she was almost ready, he'd just given Rowan a knowing smile, pulled out the newspaper, and rolled up the divider to give him some privacy.

Something he was very grateful for when, twenty minutes after she'd said she'd be ready, Aelin opened the back door and slid onto the seat across from him.

The phone fell from his hands, emails suddenly the last thing on his mind, as he took her in all the way from her curly blonde hair to her painted red toenails.

"What... what are you wearing?" he asked, voice embarrassingly raspy.

“A dress,” she replied simply, knocking on the divider between them and the driver to signal they were finally ready.

He scowled, because duh, but he’d never seen anything like what she was wearing.

First of all, it was fucking sheer.

Thin layers of black tulle wrapped around her frame, creating a see-through illusion that was messing with his mind. He guessed she was technically covered, but not enough he couldn’t see the outline of her high-cut black panties and bra. A lot of skin was showing.

Skin everyone in the club she was dragging him to would see.

“Aelin.”

“Mmm?”

“How many people are you trying to make me kill tonight?”

He wasn't a necessarily territorial man--at least he didn't think so. And the logical part of his brain told him that his wife loved him. He had nothing to worry about.

The not-so-logical part told him to not let her out of the car. Or to start cracking skulls.

His eyes finally figured out how to move off her breasts and as he looked at her face, she smiled at him knowingly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rowan growled, trying to discretely shift himself in his pants.

She noticed, of course, and her grin grew. “Rowan, get it together. If you can’t even make a twenty minute car ride, how are you going to deal with me dancing on you tonight?”

“I’m not,” he gruffed, looking at her innocent little nose. “I’m going to stand at the bar and glare at anyone who tries to get close to you.”

She tilted her head, considering this. “I don’t think so. I want to dance with you."

"Then you should've worn something less... tempting."

"Tempting?" Aelin asked, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth slowly. "What do you mean?"

"Stop acting innocent. You wear a dress like that, and you're going to get my attention."

She leaned back, hips sliding down the seat and thighs falling open.

Skulls. Cracking.

"What are you tempted to do?"

It was a breathy whisper, one that told him she was just as hot and bothered as him.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and his hands on hers, edging her thighs open a little further. Running his thumbs across her soft skin, he grinned when he felt it pebble and her breathing grow shallow.

"Currently," he began, running his hands down her calves, back over her knees, up her thighs. "I'm tempted to get on my knees before you and worship you. You look like a goddess, Fireheart."

She grinned, opening her mouth to respond, but he brought a hand up and brushed a finger down that bright red lip. "And then I'm tempted to fuck your mouth for messing with me in the first place."

Her lips parted, drawing his thumb inside her mouth, and he almost came at the sinful lap of her tongue. He pushed it deeper, eyes drifting closed when she moaned.

"But, you've been waiting for this opening for a while," he said, acting unaffected despite the tent in his pants and sitting back. "And you've obviously spent a while getting ready. I can wait."

She made an angry, frustrated sound and flung herself on him, somehow ending up on his lap, her knees by his hips. "I lied," she breathed, pushing herself down against him. "There isn't a club opening tonight. It opened last week, and I went with Lysandra. I just wanted-"

He knew what she wanted. And like always, he gave it to her.

A hand on the back of her neck pulled her mouth to his, and Rowan kissed her desperately, deep and searching and thorough. He met her tongue with his, sucked on her lips, kissed her the way he would if he got between her thighs. If the way she was moving on him was any indication, she knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying it.

His hands pushed up the thin material, and then he was gripping her ass, growling at the fact that she'd been about to wear this in public.

"I'm going to kill the neighbors," he told her, realizing they might have seen her walk to the car.

"Okay," she agreed, tilting her head back as Rowan kissed her neck. "I hate them anyway."

He was too hard, too desperate to be amused.

The desperation led to him ripping her panties off, something he knew she'd give him shit for later. But it seemed she was too far gone to care much, especially as he slipped two fingers up her thigh and pushed them into her. She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes drifting closed and head falling back.

He groaned at how tight and wet she was, clenching his jaw. The way she moved her hips gave him just enough friction that he couldn't think, and he fucked her harder with his fingers in retaliation.

His thumb drew small, quick circles on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, clenching his jaw and going faster when she tightened around him.

"Ro, I'm going to-"

She cut herself off and released a curse that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush as the car slowed to a stop, making him chuckle.

Aelin leaned over and slapped the intercom button to connect them to the driver. Right as she opened her mouth to speak, Rowan curled his fingers and pushed his thumb against her clit in a way he knew would drive her wild. She gasped, trying to hide it under a cough. "Um, fuck, just- just drive around, Ricky!"

The amused response came through a second later. "Of course, ma'am."

He likely knew exactly what they were doing back here, but Rowan didn't have half a mind to care.

As the car started moving again, Aelin sat back up and slapped his chest. "You're such an asshole."

He made another circle with his thumb. "Am I?"

She trembled, shaking her head, and he gave her a slow smile.

One hand buried between her thighs, he used the other to tug down the front of her dress and bra. His mouth came to her breast, and he swirled his tongue around her nipple in time with the movements of his thumb.

Aelin groaned loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders and hips churning sloppily.

"That's it," he encouraged, tugging on her nipple with his teeth. "Ride my hand, Fireheart."

He knew she was getting close from the way she tightened around his fingers, so he released her breasts and licked a line up the column of her throat. Her head was thrown back, giving him plenty of access, and he made use of it, sucking and licking and biting at her skin until he knew he'd leave a mark.

She cried out as she came, loud enough he hoped Ricky had a serious hearing problem.

Her legs shook and she trembled, but he kept going until she stilled and collapsed into his chest. Then he pulled them out and licked them clean, eyes rolling back at the taste of her.

After three years of marriage, she was still the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Not that he was surprised--she constantly did things like this that made him burn hotter and hotter for her as the years went by.

Apparently, the sentiment was requited, because before he knew what she was doing, his wife slid to her knees before him and flicked open his belt.

She met his eyes as she freed him, running a finger slowly down the length of him.

"Aelin," he warned, not in the mood to be teased. Normally, he'd sit there all day and let her fool around, but he wanted her--needed her--now.

She rolled her eyes, but gave him what he needed, leaning down to put her mouth on him.

A muttered "fuck" fell off his lips, his hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.

Her hands were running over his thighs and up his abs, like she relished the feel of him as much he did her.

Pulling back, she hollowed her cheeks and circled her tongue around his tip. Rowan's hands were fists at his sides and his jaw was clenched tight. She's been down there for ten seconds, he reminded himself, trying not to be a chump.

Except it felt too goddamn good.

She knew exactly what he liked, and she gave it to him so fucking well he could do nothing but sit there and try not to act like a wild animal.

His hands found their way into her hair, holding it back to give him an unobstructed view.

Her full lips enveloped him, staining his cock red, and he almost came at the sight.

"Look at me," he rasped, groaning when she opened her eyes to meet his. "Fucking hell."

Those eyes undid him, and he didn't care if it made him a chump or not.

"I'm close," he warned her, pulling out a little.

But she was having none of that and dipped her head to take all of him again.

With another muffled curse, release found him, and if there was ever any doubt as to if she was the perfect woman for him, it was gone the second she moaned as he came down her throat.

His head hit the seat behind him as he breathed and breathed and tried to not pass out.

Sitting up on her knees, Aelin licked her lips and looked him over slowly.

Rowan tucked himself back into his trousers, then grabbed her arms and pulled her up onto his lap. He tucked her into him, fixing her clothes as best he could. She'd definitely have to wear his jacket when she got out, considering he'd torn her underwear off, but that was a problem for later.

He kissed her brow, smiling. "Happy anniversary, Fireheart."

Her head tilted back, those eyes meeting his again. "Happy anniversary, Buzzard."