#work out your salvation with diligence

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

St George Island Florida from above

* * * * "The illusion that you could get someone else to do it for you. To think for you. Even though the great emotions, the great truths, were universal; even though the mind of humanity was ultimately one mind, still, each and every single individual had to establish his or her own special, personal, particular, unique, direct, one-to-one, hands-on relationship with reality, with the universe, with the Divine. It might be a pain in the ass, it might be, most of all, lonely - but it was the bottom line. It was as different for everybody as it was the same, so everybody had to take control of their own life, define their own death, and construct their own salvation. And when you finished, you didn't call the Messiah. He'd call you." - Tom Robbins Skinny Legs and All

[alive on all channels]

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Headcanon: Worship

Yandere Forgotten God (tentacle monster) x GN Reader

TW: Tentacles, teratophillia, gore, dubcon, and yandere themes

He was an ancient chaos god, one that was once revered amongst humans a millennium ago. But over time he had been forgotten when his fishing village had become a city. Now he was nothing more than a tall tale. A god with no name. He no longer had a humanoid form but was now a blob of black tentacles. It was shameful how far he had fallen from grace from his own pride. He should have made sure he was never forgotten.

The god shouldn’t have been so cocky to believe that monk couldn’t seal him away but alas, this was the punishment he deserved for his insatiable greed.

So when you arrive to his shrine and accidentally break the millennium old ward, he’s shocked. Have his own prayers finally been answered? Has someone come to free him from this lonely existence?

“I’ve heard there was once a god of chaos here so I have come to pray to you… please hear my plea.” You then bowed down in respect to the shrine and cried a bit. “I do not wish to be married off to some senile, corrupt man. Please god, if you hear me, save me.” You cried before him. You wanted to be saved before married you off to some old nobleman. You shared your woes of how this man made your city nearly inhabitable with his high taxes and of his salacious behavior. How could he not be swayed? He felt obligated to help you.

And so the god did what he did best, he wreaked havoc. He used his supernatural abilities to cause a landslide onto that nobleman’s home, killing him instantly. Now you no longer had to worry about being a stupid old man’s property. You could continue on with your life worshipping him! Your god!

You visited his shrine daily and left him small offerings. Ones that he would have rejected in the past but was positively thrilled to have now. The god began to love you. How could he not be drawn to your genuine gratitude? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this thrilled with him… it must’ve been over a thousand years ago now? He didn’t know…

What he loved most about you was your smile. It warmed his heart and he adored it. You were his world and he wanted to be more humanoid for you…

When your visits became less frequent, he used that time away from you to try to shape his body once more. He wanted to be with you. To hold you. To touch you, but he couldn’t do that as a shapeless blob of tentacles… but he could if he was more humanoid.

And so here he was with a mostly humanoid body with functioning male reproductive organs… save for the tentacles that remained attached to his back. His face was picturesque but his extra limbs weren’t… it didn’t matter. He would do so much for you, more than any human man. You didn’t entirely have a choice.

The god diligently worked on his shrine to make it more inhabitable for you as well. He needed it to be perfect so the two of you could be here for all eternity together. Him and his savior! His beloved devotee!

When you returned to his shrine after a week of not seeing him with bruises on your face, he was livid. Who had harmed you? Why would they hurt you? Hurt his destined spouse? How dare they… how dare they.

You shared your woes and prayed for salvation once more, this time from your family. They believed you to now be bad luck due to the nobleman’s sudden death and began to verbally and physically abuse you. You looked so miserable… just like him. His poor, precious worshipper didn’t deserve such treatment. No. They deserved to be worshipped.

The god now had enough power to leave his shrine due to your generous offerings. Your worship gave him the power to become a great chaos god once more.

And the god once more inflicted his wrath upon your enemies. This time he tore them apart limb from limb, starting from their mouths to their hands and eventually to their feet. He wished to start out by ripping out the tongues that spat venomous words at you. To break every bone in their hands and feet for the pain they inflicted on you. For every sin committed against you, he would inflict it back tenfold.

This is the first time you were able to see his true form as well… you were so silent the entire time of his massacre of your family. Was he so gorgeous that you were speechless? How cute his darling was!

You began to sob when he held your face between his blood coated palms. The smell of iron was too much for you that you began to retch but he was oblivious that he was the reason of your disgust and fear. Those damn humans must be too much for you to be around… perhaps he should whisk his spouse away?

So he did just that. His arms and tentacles tightly wrapped around you as he whisked you off to your new home together. The revamped shrine. He hoped you’d love it since he worked so hard on making it habitable for the two of you!

You struggle in his grip but he doesn’t relent. You must be shy… how cute!

You try to push the tentacles from you, but they merely wrap around your form to gently massage you. He needed to calm you before you hurt yourself… it was okay!

“Be not afraid, my dear.” His voice made you jump in surprise but he chuckled. “I’m not going to hurt you… you’re my beloved after all. My savior.”

“You’re the god of this shrine…” you whispered softly, which made the god eagerly nod. “You’re Xeros.”

Yes! That was his name! The one he had forgotten over the years. You were so sweet to remember his name…

You don’t even have time to protest before his tentacles wrap around your body in an enticing manner. The extra appendages slip into the waist band of your pants and tease your tight hole. You whine at the sudden touch but more tentacles wrap around your arms and legs to keep you in place

“Your offerings were wonderful but I need a better offering since I eliminated your problem…” Xeros smiled down at you with his hauntingly beautiful face. “I demand you as my offering. You will be my eternal spouse.”

“But I’m just a human- ack!” You gagged on the tentacle that was suddenly shoved into your mouth. Your eyes welled up with tears as the god beamed at you.

“It doesn’t matter to me what species you are. I’m a god. I will always get what I want.” Your back arched when one of his slimy tentacles finally breeched the tight ring of muscles and wriggled inside of you. You moaned loudly at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that overcame you.

“See? Why would you resist such pleasure?” Xeros leaned to whisper, his hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, “I’m far better than any mortal lover. Don’t you think so?”

Your mind is too cloudy to form a coherent reply, your eyes rolled back in you head as his black tendrils ravish you. The tentacle in your mouth soon replaced with his tongue.

This was the way you should always be. You deserved every orifice of your body to be stuffed to the brim with him. To cry and whine in pleasure that ascends human comprehension. To be his spouse and to lay his eggs.

You deserved to be worshipped as his deity

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You do your best to avoid him for as long as you can. 

You show up at the factory each day, diligent and focused on your work. You thread, dye and sew miles upon miles of fabric. It’s exhausting and repetitive but assists you well in burying the peculiar encounter. And if sometimes a particular shade of blue fabric stir memories of eyes you’d rather forget…you ignore that as well. It’s better that way. You narrowly escaped imprisonment, perhaps even death. No need to tempt fate once again. 

But it’s no matter. 

Because fate finds you anyway. 

It happens as the end of your shift at the factory comes near. Your cold-bitten digits are interweaving two different colors of thread on a gigantic wooden loom. Same as the girls and boys surrounding you. They’re all quick and efficient, threading and weaving with the ease of practice. A lifetime of it. Some of them are as young as five years old. There’s a saying floating around the districts.

If one can walk, they can work. 

You often wondered if that same logic applies to the Capitol’s children. Are they too expected to work until their fingers are numb with pain and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue?

You somehow doubt it. 

Once again, the weight of someone’s attention blankets your shoulders. You tense, the needle nicking your fingertip when your attention falters. 

You curse and swipe away the blood beading on your finger.

Your head rises. 

Anger simmers inside you at the sight of the smug face smirking at you from across the room. 

Coriolanus. 

He showed up one hour ago, switching places with another guard, and proceeded to stare at you since.

Dread pools in your gut. His gaze hasn’t strayed from you once.

What could the peacekeeper possibly want from you?

You have nothing, and it’s obvious he’s some rich kid from the Capitol who somehow found his way here.

“Your yarn is coming loose.” 

Yara’s frenzied tone wrenches you away from your thoughts. 

You look down, your forehead scrunching as you do. She’s right. The threads have broken out of their pattern, forming disgraceful zigzags over the loom.

Besides, there’s a minuscule crimson stain on the fabric. The pristine beige cloth is now ruined. This will come out of your pay.

Your ire grows. Your gaze narrows as it finds Coriolanus’.  This is all his fault. He distracted you. Annoyance at the strange peacekeeper gleams inside you.

You bolt up from your stool.

“I have to go,” you announce, already gathering your satchel from the floor.

Yara’s eyes round.  “Our shift’s not over yet,” she whispers below her breath, tossing wary glances at the guards. Your frown deepens. Any slight sign of disobedience could be seen as a hint of rebellion these days. It’s how much the Capitol wants to avoid a return to the Dark Days.

You smile at her in reassurance.

Yara was kind enough to show you the ropes when you started working at the textile factory. She even stayed late at night with you to teach you the most complex needlepoints.

Fidgeting, you apologize, “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve ruined it anyway.”

You don’t stick around for her response, rushing towards the nearest corridor to slip away.

A deep, teasing lilt echoes behind you in the hallway.

“Still trying to fly away from me, huh?”

Your heart leaps. Not again. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you chide as you keep hastening across the hallway. It doesn’t matter though. A stolen glimpse at your back reveals to you that Coriolanus’ long legs easily maintain pace with your frantic strides.

You unleash a weary sigh. 

“I shouldn’t but I am, pretty bird.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it infuriates you more.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus-”

A sharp breath ripples through your throat as warm fingers suddenly clasp around your arm.

“What are you…”

The large hand that drapes over your mouth quiets your budding protest.

Ignoring your muffled shouts, he pulls you flush against his frame and drags you into a dark room inside another hallway.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you grab at anything you can. He’s undeterred by your feistiness, only unhanding you once he’s slammed the door shut.

A chill dances on your spine  as every deadbolt is meticulously slid into place by him.

Leaning back against the locked door, Coriolanus’s eyes drag over you. He drinks you in for a while as you retreat, as far away from him as the small room allows.

Uncrossing his arms, the blonde starts inching towards you.

Your nerves flare up at his impending proximity. A heavy sigh drops from his chest.

“Why do you make that face when I’m only trying to help you?”

“I don’t want any help from you. I want nothing from you,” you shout. 

He tilts his head, closing the distance. He shoves his hand in his pocket, seeming to search for something. You freeze. 

Shock rocks through you when he conjures a familiar vial, shaking it in front of your face. 

“Hm, Are you sure?” he taunts. 

The urge to steal it from him has your fingertips tingling. But you tried that before, and it didn’t work in your favor. So you snuff out the impulse.

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

You search his stark cobalt orbs. They give nothing away.

“I just want to take care of you,” he adds.

“Why?”

You startle as his long fingers creep under your chin. You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten, now bending over you so you’re at eye-level.

“Because I can. I could make your life easier.”

His tender inflection, oddly intimate, makes discomfort pool in your stomach.

“I don’t need…”

“Take it.”

As you do nothing to take the bottle he holds up in his fist, Coriolanus exhales wearily.

You gasp when he shoves the vial between your trembling palms.

“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes. “That cousin of yours won’t make it through winter without these. They’re antibiotics.”

You stare down at the amber bottle. Your shoulders slump. You hate to admit it but he’s probably right. Tilly’s coughing fits are progressively getting worse. She can hardly breathe properly most days. It hurts to see and you’ve been praying for a way to help her. 

And now you have that way. Is it even fair to Tilly to turn his help down because of your own personal hang ups with the peacekeeper? 

His motives elude you but you’re not sure it matters at that moment. 

Tilly’s life is on the line. 

Your fingers squeeze around the vial.

“I know what they are. It’s written on the bottle.”

Interest springs in his cobalt gaze.

“You can read? Interesting,” he hums. “Most people can’t in the districts.”

Your cheeks heat at his assumption. A respectable amount of people in the districts can in fact read. Not the majority, but a few at least. The knowledge just isn’t widespread enough and schools are a luxury most districts cannot afford.

“My grandmother taught me when I was young,” you defend.

He pauses, studying your defiant features. 

His hand wraps around your hand holding the bottle. You try not to shrink, afraid he’ll take it back.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles.

“These are very rare and hard to get. Don’t let your pride get in the way, pretty bird.”

“I won’t,” you mumble. 

Another bag materializes before you. Coriolanus nudges it in your arms before you can think to protest. “Take that too.”

You glare at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Food, water, supplies.”

Grounded in disbelief, you peer inside the bag. Your jaw hangs slack. He wasn’t lying. The bag is brimming with rations. There’s even a few slices of bread and cheese on top. This has to be worth at least a hundred coins.

You purse your lips. “I can’t accept…I have nothing to repay you.”

Corolianus sighs, keeping the bag in your hands with his steely grip as you attempt to return it.

“Then just remember you live because of me,” he says. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips. “That’s the only payment I require.”

You snort. It can’t possibly be that simple, can it?

But Coriolanus’ features harbor no mirth. Skepticism heightens your pitch.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

You nod. “Okay, I will.”

Displeasure flickers in his gaze. His fingers sneak below your chin to angle it upward, forcing you to drown in his cobalt stare.

“No, I want to hear you say it, sweet bird.” His tone is laced with a solemnity that wasn’t there before. Your stomach knots. “That you live by the will of Coriolanus Snow.”

A shaky breath flows out of you. You’re suddenly reluctant under his keen scrutiny.

Still, your voice comes out a tremulous croak.

“I live because of you, Coriolanus Snow.”

His entire face lights up with your words, a strange glow appearing in his orbs.

For some reason, you feel as if you just tied a noose around your own neck.

You take a sip of your beer, basking in the bitter, heady aftertaste. Usually, you’re not much of a drinker, but it’s the first true respite you’ve gotten from the blue-eyed peacekeeper in many weeks and you plan on enjoying it. 

A tavern wouldn’t be your first choice but Yara invited you and it occurred to you this isn’t the kind of place a boy smelling like old money and roses would visit. 

It’s rare for you to be anywhere these days without his disarming presence hovering in a corner of the room. 

You’ve even considered abandoning your job at the factory altogether. But it’s not like a girl like you can change careers on a whim. You have no connections, no skill, no talent whatsoever. Nothing but your hard-earned ability to weave threads of fabrics together. 

Maybe the mines at the northern end of the district. 

It’s far from a tempting prospect. The work is downright dangerous. But at least it would shield you from the peacekeeper’s relentless scrutiny. 

“Your shadow isn’t here today," Yara notes.

You drag your eyes away from the band playing on stage. 

“My shadow?”

“That pretty boy peacekeeper who follows you around," she elaborates, her lips curved in amusement. You grimace. If only she knew. There isn’t a shred of mirth in your current predicament. 

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t follow me around.”

You refrain from saying he does a plethora of other things that puzzle you and stir your discomfort. 

You refuse to trust him, but thanks to him your cousin has been getting noticeably better, even able to walk on her own again now. It’s a relief. Tonight she’s at friend’s and gets to laugh, play and be a regular kid again. 

Besides, though it pains you to recognize it, your belly’s fuller than it’s been in a long time. 

It shames you to admit it, but it took you no time to cave in and gobble down the food he offered. Hunger does strange things to people. 

You loathe yourself for yielding but the feeling of an empty stomach is infinitely worse than that of your wounded pride. 

"He is pretty though," your friend says, glancing away dreamily. 

Your face warms.  "I really don’t care how he looks. I just wish he’d go pester someone else."

"Hm, fair." She drinks from her jug and shrugs. "He could just be bored. I’m sure he’ll stop at some point."

The conversation reaches a halt when a brown-haired guy around your age with a scar across his face stops at your table. 

“Can I ask you to dance?” he asks. His cheeks redden as he awaits your response. A quiet glance passes between you and Yara. You kick her under the table when she nearly lets out a chuckle.

Endeared by the boy’s bashful manner, you answer with a smile, “Sure, why not.”

You let the stranger drag you into a dance, your worries fading into the buoyant, lively  notes played by the band and the boy’s nonchalant grin.

It’s the kind of normalcy you’ve been longing for.

Engrossed in the moment, as the boy slips a hand around your waist, an audible gasp spills out of you when he pulls away from you out of the blue. 

Or rather is wrenched away from you. 

Your brows rise to your hairline.

You gape in horror, the sight of Coriolanus hauling the boy up by his lapels striking you mute. His features are taut with anger as the boy’s hands rise defensively. A mix of befuddlement and fear decorates his features.

Guilt needles your chest. You never expected the blond to show up here of all places. Paranoia seizes the chaotic train of your thoughts. Was he here all along, watching you like a hawk the entire time? Is he always here, never wandering too far from wherever you are?

Fear coils your insides.

"Hey," you call out, relief trickling inside you when your legs move again. You make a beeline to Coriolanus. 

“What is wrong with you?” you shout, trying to pry him off the poor boy. 

It’s not the useless hand scratching his bicep but rather your tone that appears to jerk him out of his trance. 

His grip on the boy loosens as he whirls to you. The stranger wastes no time in running away. You can’t even blame him. You can’t imagine there’d be many repercussions if the blond harmed him, but the opposite can’t be said. 

Coriolanus’ hands slowly lower before balling into fists. 

Irate blue eyes flare as they fall on you. 

You recoil.

“With me?” he growls, crowding your space. "His grubby paws were all over you."

You blink in disbelief, shocked by his accusing tone. You did nothing wrong. It’s not like he can tell you who to dance and not dance with. "G-Grubby…what? I’m not some damsel in need of rescuing, Coriolanus."

He squints at you, displeasure evident on his angular features. 

His hand latches onto your arm, yanking you towards the exit. You can barely keep up with his furious stomps.

“I think it’s time we had a talk. Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay here."

He ignores you, his grip on you turning deathly. Tears burn the back of your eyes. 

“No…”

You toss a desperate look above your shoulder to find your friend just as shocked as you are. She won’t help you. No one will. 

Your stomach sinks. 

The tears break past the confine of your lashes. 

He takes you outside. The chilly air skates across your skin, spreading gooseflesh over it. The silver glow of the moon lights the tortuous path he takes through dim, narrow alleyways. This is nowhere near your cabin and your panic swells. 

You dig your heels into the ground, resisting. 

Coriolanus heaves out a weary exhale. He hunkers down to pick you up. You squeal, flabbergasted by his nerve. He hoists you on his shoulders as if you were a sack of grain, taking firm, irate steps into the night. 

"You can’t do this," you weep, slamming as hard as you can into his back. 

Hardly flinching, he scoffs before stating, “I don’t remember asking for your permission, birdie."

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Octavinelle [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Octavinelle vs. Rielle Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Octavinelle Version, Part 2 ie. Your red-headed hero arrives at Night Raven College and your other aquatic friends are less than enthused.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The VDC is going to be one of the biggest events in Night Raven College’s history. It’s going to be spectacular, awe-inspiring, one for the history books. And somehow, by the grace of the Gods (or, well, Vil and Professor Crewel) you have tickets.

So naturally, Azul wants you to work through the entire thing.

“I know you don’t like people,” he’d smiled, as if he was offering you salvation on a silver platter. “And just think of it—all those crowds of sweaty, screaming, humans running around. It only seems right that I, as your employer and friend, do my due diligence to keep you safe during all of it, hmm?”

“We’re just thinking of your wellbeing,” Jade had piped in, a gloved hand pressed to his chest all innocent-like. You weren’t fooled for a second.

“And think of all the extra Thaumarks you’ll earn in tips!” Azul chirped. “I know being in a new world has been difficult for you in more ways than one, and that the financial burden in particular has been terribly unpleasant. So really, we’re just doing everything we can to assist you!”

Lies about being considerate for your ‘delicate mental health’ aside, money was good. Money was great. And besides, all you really cared about was the Choral Competition. As long as you could sneak away for that one, camping out in the Lounge didn’t actually seem like the worst idea in the world. The food was excellent, the atmosphere soothing, and the company was—

…Well.

‘Less than desirable’ would probably be an understatement. But Azul always let you take home the leftovers at the end of the night, and sometimes on colder nights Jade would make you a cup of cocoa with no mushrooms in it or anything. So maybe you could excuse a bit of sadism here and there.

So the VDC came and little, poor, you were squirreled away behind the gilded doors of the Mostro Lounge. Aside for the influx of costumers (and subsequent ‘event price hikes’), it was hardly different than any of your other shifts. The one notable difference was how often Azul swapped your station. Normally you were on door duty, or acting as part of the wait staff. But every time a group of RSA students strutted by in their fancy white uniforms, the Octo-Mer would shuffle you off to the kitchens. Or the bar. Or even his office sometimes, demanding assistance with clerical work.

Someone called your name and you lifted your head from your cloud of misery and menial labor—only half paying attention to the people you were ushering in towards the seating area. But instead of another unfamiliar blob waving you down, you actually recognized this guy. Him and his brilliant shock of red hair that you wouldn’t be able to miss from a mile away.

Lo – it was fork dude.

Or, well, Prince Rielle Tidal of Atlantica. But whatever. Man had pushed a utensil into your hands and told you to brush your hair with it. There was no coming back from that.

Your sun-kissed savior swerved through the line to greet you, nearly bowling you over in his enthusiasm. His RSA uniform was a blotch of bleached brightness against the sea of Night Raven’s black ensemble. Normally your rival academics seemed to travel in packs—safety in numbers and all that. But Rielle was weaving through the mass of grumpy NRC faces like he was perfectly at home.

“I decided to pop by to see Azul and his business—because, you know, he was always so smart and pragmatic so I knew it’d probably be really cool and whatever—but wow! It’s really you!”

“It’s really me,” you repeated, fighting to keep the chirp in your customer service voice. “So, would you like a table or—"

“Wait a second—Azul has you working during the festival?!” Rielle gawked, as if he was just realizing that he had stepped into a place a of business, and that you were wearing the uniform of said establishment. “That’s so cruel!”

Yes. Yes it was. But Azul was nothing if not cruel. And if this guy actually knew anything about him at all, he should be perfectly aware of that.

“Someone has to do it,” you shrugged. “Anyways, can I get you something to—”

“Wah, look at this! Shrimpy’s slackin’ on the job!”

Maybe you could put your head through the wall. That would probably be less painful.

Floyd, Jade, and Azul materialized behind you seemingly out of thin air. The terrible trio greeted your dour frown with varying degrees of spiteful glee. And… something else? There was a sort of tension about them that didn’t mesh with their usual haughtiness. It had cropped up for the first time a few weeks ago—that day at the beach. And subsequently the hours after when Jade had pulled Azul into his office to whisper all kinds of nonsense that was apparently ‘too delicate’ for you and whatever tolerance you’d built for these sociopaths.

“Actually, it’s my fault!” Rielle blurted, stepping smoothly in front of you with all the chivalry of a knight. You wanted to warn him that dipping into Floyd’s bite radius was a terrible idea, but at the same time, you were tired, and hungry, and very curious to see how this would all play out. “And I was just wondering—well… I—I mean…”

The young Prince was starting to splutter, his cheeks burning that same, hot, pink that they had all those weeks ago at the beach. He took a moment to clear his throat, compose himself, and then grasped your hands with both of his very neatly manicured ones.

You thought you heard someone gasp. Like in a period novel.

“I actually heard that you were at Night Raven too! And I’ve been looking all over for you! So—I—Would you—” More throat clearing. Floyd’s teeth were grinding together so loudly it almost sounded like a buzzsaw. “Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

There was a deafening crack and you watched as Jade nearly put Floyd through the floor in an attempt to keep him from lurching forward. You observed the scene before you with pleasant sort of surprise as the trio across from you erupted. Or, well, Floyd had erupted. Jade just had that perfectly polite smile on his mouth that let you know he was planning someone’s murder. And Azul looked like he’d just taken physical damage.

Huh. Interesting.

Then again, you’d known they were a proprietary bunch. And you also knew that you were the favorite chew toy around these parts. No one else was sturdy enough for the role, apparently.

“Oi, Princey,” Floyd snarled from behind Jade’s gloved fingers. “What do you think you’re—"

“I—” you interrupted, stepping between the rabid Merfolk and the would-be-mincemeat. “—would love to.”

Silence.

“…What?” Azul squawked.

“I’m due for my break anyways,” you shrugged, enjoying the horrible little surge of satisfaction warming your gut. Take that, you obnoxious fucks. You weren’t sure why Rielle and his crimson-monstrosity of a hairdo had set the three of them off so terribly, but you’d been on your feet for hours now. And missing all the food stalls, and your other friends, and you were going to take this petty revenge where you could.

You turned to Rielle with a polite little smile that you hoped looked more demure than scheming, and his eyes sparkled.

“You don’t mind eating here, do you?” you asked before shooting Azul an award-winning grin. “I’m sure having a Prince dining in would be great advertisement.”

“But of course,” he grit out. “Who would I be to turn down such a ringing endorsement.”

Rielle tossed an amiable arm across your shoulders and laughed that tinkling, church-bell, laugh of his. Floyd’s lip twitched and Azul snagged his arm quicker than a snake could strike. The snarling behemoth was promptly dragged off into the depths of the Lounge—Azul muttering something frantically under his breath that you couldn’t make out. He looked hunched, panicked. And whatever he was saying must have been serious enough to snag Floyd’s fickle attentions, because the too-tall henchman stayed firmly at his boss’s side. The pair of them vanished into the kitchens, the door slamming behind them.

“Just this way then, if you’d please,” Jade beamed, positively glacial.

“This’ll be great!” the Prince preened, keeping a loose grip on you as you both trailed a very stiff Eel through the front parlor. “I get to see all of Azul’s awesome accomplishments and have lunch with you at the same time!”

“The Mostro Lounge is a lovely place to dine,” you chirped, repeating your familiar, scripted, server prompts from memory. “There’s something for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Rielle hummed, as if in deep thought. “That’s very considerate of them.”

Plenty of people at this school liked to insult your intelligence, and you in turn liked to remind certain someones (Ace. Sebek.) that it was best not to throw stones in glass houses. But this was—you may have really found an actual, factual, ditz. Was this how Azul felt all the time? Looking down at you mere mortals with his superior IQ and cunning? Listening to Rielle’s innocent rambling made you feel like Einstein. It was… sort of nice.

My God, you were going to have be responsible for him, weren’t you? Is that was parenthood felt like?

Jade led you to a quiet booth in the back—the one with a direct line of sight to both the kitchens and Azul’s office. The one reserved for problem customers. You folded yourself neatly onto the cushioned bench and Rielle followed, sitting at your side rather than across the table. Something in Jade’s jaw twitched.

“What do you recommend?” Rielle asked you cheerfully, practically radiating enthusiasm. “I’m sure everything is fantastic!”

“Hmm… How about the Mixed Seafood Platter to start I think,” you grinned, turning your polite beam back on your unfortunate server. “With the Unagi, please.”

Beneath all that bubbling irritation, something in those bi-colored eyes gleamed with the barest hint of respect.

“But of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

Once Jade had retreated, Rielle relaxed back into his seat with a theatrical sigh. He brushed his neat swoop of hair off his forehead, like he was wiping away sweat from a workout.

“Phewf! Not that Azul’s friends aren’t nice and all, but they always give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

That was the kindest word for ‘intense murderous aura’ that you’d ever heard.

“A bit, yeah,” you agreed easily enough. “So how do you know Azul?”

“Oh!” he perked right back up. “We were classmates! When we were younger. He was always really quiet, but also really smart! Is he still like that? Quiet—I mean. Reserved.”

A memory struck you then—of standing at Azul’s side in the lobby of the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You remembered his hesitant determination as he replaced his old class photo on the wall. The picture of a tiny, rounder, Azul standing off to the side—hunched, grey, and miserable amidst a sea of laughing faces. You couldn’t remember if there had been a brilliant slash of red mixed in there anywhere. You hadn’t even bothered to check. Because why would you have even deigned to look at the faces of a group of bullies?

Something soured in your gut.

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” your smile sharpening a bit at the edges. “He’s actually very talkative. It’s hard to get him to shut up most of the time.”

“Really?” Rielle gaped. “Wow! That’s awesome!”

Jade slithered by to drop off your appetizers, and if he noticed the slight drop in your mood he didn’t mention it. He was in and out in a flash. You could just see the whisps of his teal hair disappearing back into Azul’s office.

“Enough about Azul though,” Rielle waved off, reaching for the platter. “Tell me about you!”

“Me?” you echoed, bland. “But isn’t Azul your old friend?”

The Prince waved you off once more, cheeks pinkening all over again. “I can talk to him whenever. I’d much rather hear about you! You’re—You’re interesting!”

Now, that was probably a genuine compliment. You doubted Rielle actually meant to slight your friend companion boss by implying that the most ambitious, intelligent, cunning, and well-dressed merman on campus wasn’t interesting enough to converse about—that all of Azul’s efforts to bring himself out of the shadows and onto center stage were still wanting. But that bitter thing in your stomach was raring for a fight.

So you ruffled around in your uniform pocket and pulled out the little notebook you used to tally orders. You shot Rielle the brightest, sweetest, smile you could and watched his stupidly pretty face light up redder than his hair.

“Actually,” you giggled—giggled. Like a freak. “I’d love to hear about you.”

.

.

.

“He’s going to say something!—”

“What doesn’t Shrimpy already know, huh?” Floyd griped. “And I mean, didn’t you steal Ramshackle? You really think bubble-butt out there can do anything to make the Prefect hate you?”

Azul paced. And paced. And paced.

“It’s not about hating me,” he hissed, fighting the urge to wring his hands. “It’s about realizing there are better options out there, and—”

“Bubble-butt is a better option?!” Floyd cackled.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Then stop whining,” the eel droned, flopping his head back against the couch. “You shoulda just let me squeeze ‘em.”

“We do not need to spark an international incident in my restaurant,” Azul repeated. Though it sounded less like he was trying to convince Floyd than himself.  “Rielle Tidal is a Prince—”

“—a shitty, turd, leftover, Prince—”

“—who we must treat,” Azul grit out, “as such.”

There was a firm rap against the door and Jade slipped inside. Azul had to fight the reflex to pounce on him immediately. Instead he took a moment to pause and straighten his suit jacket. His fingers were shaking and he was sure that Jade would have seen, but thankfully there seemed to be a single shred of mercy left in his Vice-Warden’s cold, withered, heart, and the trembling limbs were not mentioned.

Jade cleared his throat and Azul leaned forward, anxious.

“I think you may be overthinking things,” he said, calm as a cucumber, and Azul wanted to scream.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s being prepared,” he snipped. A pause. “But why do you say that? What happened? Did something happen?”

Jade smiled that placid smile of his. “No.”

“No?” Azul repeated, flabbergasted.

“No,” Jade shrugged.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Floyd piped in.

Azul was just about to turn and remind his wonderful subordinate just how terrible he could make his existence when there was another knock at the door—lighter than Jade’s but just as familiar. Not a moment later, your head popped through the crack and you peaked inside wearily.

Azul hastily cleared his throat and Jade’s grin turned smug.

“Pr-Prefect! Can I help you with something?”

Floyd snickered under his breath and Azul mentally added another three hours onto the bastard’s nightly dish duties.

You stepped inside and tossed a tiny notebook down onto his desk.

“Here,” you said, with a grumpy sort of frown on your face. “All of Prince Rielle of Atlantica’s stupid wants, hopes, and dreams. You better be able to put this to good use you stupid mafioso wannabe, because I’ve been listening to this guy ramble on about himself for ages now, and I’d rather get drowned by Jade and Floyd again.”

You turned without another word and slammed the door behind you.

Azul gaped wordlessly at the pile of tiny pages splattered across his desk, and the familiar curl of your handwriting filling each and every one of them.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh indeed,” Jade grinned.

[thorougly-melted-brains]

Soap got shot in the face. It’s not so bad, it was a close quarters, clean shot. By some dumb luck the fucker managed to get him from the inside out, so the most damage he’s got is two broken teeth and and large hole in his cheek.

It’ll heal fine, by some miracle it hadn’t even gotten infected (probably because it bled like an old slasher film). But now Soap, one famously chatty John “Soap” Mactavish, is stuck unable to talk for roughly a week.

He’s going fucking insane by the second day he’s fully lucid. His journal is filled with rambles and doodles and eventually just scribbles when his brain ran too fast to even form words.

He could watch videos, if only on mute because he’s got a fucking ice pack strapped around his head. It would be fine aloud but he’s stuck in an inbetween room in the med ward, and he does know some curtesy.

Normally he’d pester Gaz, but he and the Captain are on a mission half way around the world from their current base. And besides, even if Gaz were awake, he’d hardly be in the mood for Soap bitching about a few stitches.

His salvation comes a dose and too many ice-alterations later to count, in the form of one masked lieutenant.

He’s sure his eyes light up like a puppy, but he’s too wound up to care by that point.

“Nice to see you conscious, Sargeant.” Is all Ghost says as he drops himself into the chair besides Soap’s cot. Then Soap sees the objects in Ghost’s hands, his nose scrunches up.

“Paper work.” Ghost states, and drops the offending parchment and clipboard in Soap’s lap.

Soap can’t voice his opinion on the matter, but Ghost seemingly reads his mind. Or his nose wrinkles.

“Your hands still work, far as I’m aware. Price will want the report. I’m sure he’ll just be dying to hear your voice again, even in writing.” Ghost’s normal monotone breaks as he says the last bit. Smug fucker.

Soap, using his still very functional hands, socks Ghost on the shoulder. It earns him a proper, stilling chuckle out of the man. A reward for his suffering. He smiles a bit at that, then winces as it pulls at his cheek. His mouth is still full of coppery taste and a hint of gunpowder, but a fresh trickle of blood makes itself known at his mistake.

Ghost makes to get up and Soap panics. Bored out of his mind and still on some not insurmountably strong painkillers, he grabs Ghosts wrist. Thoroughly attention-gotten, Ghost tilts his head at him.

“Something I can help you with?” He asks, and watches Soap scramble for one of the notepads a diligent nurse had been using to ask him his pain level.

‘I’m bored.’

Ghost tsks as he reads it, giving Soap an unimpressed look.

“Lucky for you, you’ve got the world in your hand right there. And a charger, even.” He says, and points to the phone in Soaps unoccupied hand. Right, he was still grasping Ghost’s arm.

Soap lets go and looks away with a groan. He almost opens his mouth to complain before he thinks better of it and turns back to the paper.

‘Wifi’s shit here, and I haven’t got anyone to talk to.’

It takes Ghost a minute to decipher Soap’s increasingly slanted script.

“Even if you did, could hardly talk to them, aye?” Soap lets the slight at the end slip past him, in favor of very emphatically writing:

‘Can still write. Or text, if they know how to use a phone.’

The last bit is a slight break in character. Usually he’d poke at Ghost for pretending to be tech-illiterate. But his current vocabulary is limited by his already shaky hand-writing.

“Well, handy for you I just might.” Ghost says, and gestures for Soap’s phone.

He’s unlocked and handed it over to Ghost before his words even hit. With Ghost currently occupied by… whatever he’s doing on Soap’s phone. Soap opts to tap his knee and give him a confused look.

“I do have a phone.” Ghost says, eyes twinkling with something like mirth. He hands Soap his phone back, and to Soaps astonishment he finds that Ghost’s entered his phone number.

“Can’t promise I’ll respond quickly, I’m handling two sets of paperwork after all.” Ghost says, and stands up and just walks out like he hadn’t just handed Soap something worth more than gold.

Soaps first thought, when his brain catches up to what had just happened, is to change Ghost’s name. He’d entered himself as simply ‘Ghost’ which went against Soaps sorting system for contacts. He quickly alters it to one ‘Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley.’

Someone who didn’t know him would assume he was a proper respectful soldier boy for entering every one of his contacts’ ranks. Really he just couldn’t be fucked to remember them on his own.

His second thought, after that was fixed, was to focus on what Ghost had said while Soaps brain was still loading.

“Two sets of paperwork.” He’d said. And, upon further inspection, Soap finds the forgotten clipboard in his lap only has the barest minimum papers in it. Soap feels something warm settle in his chest. He decides to text as much to Ghost.

-taking my work was nice

-you really need to work on your coldness

-have a reputation to keep after all

Against his word, Ghost’s response is near instant.

-Not nice, tactical. You’re still technically high, can’t have you fucking up anything important.

Soap notices the punctuation immediately. The image of Simon carefully typing it out on his tiny phone with his large hands makes Soap laugh, before he winces as it pulls at his cheek.

-Also, full name I notice there.

It was the barest of sentences but Soap could just hear the overly-serious tone Ghost would’ve grumbled it in.

-if you’re worried about a security risk lt just know it’s how i put every one in

Ghost types for a long time after he sent that. Soap has to put a careful hand over his mouth to resist the grin forming on his face pre-emptively to the chewing out hes about to get.

-Well, I guess compared to the rest of you that’s the least of our worries.

Soap squawks at that one.

-what’s that supposed to mean??

He knew to wait patiently for Simon to finish agonizing after his grammar this time. Even though he wants to break his bed rest and run to the lieutenant’s office to demand an answer.

-I mean you’re so desperate to talk you’re texting me about fucking paperwork, Sargeant. Also, an excessive amount of question-marks.

Soap could only roll his eyes at that. He was starting to get drowsy though. It was near nighttime, and a Nurse had come in between texts to give him some of the good stuff so he could really sleep.

-maybe if you visited and told me something you’d find the conversation more interesting

It was bold, but he could blame the drugs and exhaustion. Seemed stupid, how tired he was when he hadn’t been on his feet in at least 48 hours. But healing was hard work, apparently.

-Fine, I’ll eat breakfast with you tomorrow. Can’t promise I’ll have much to tell, but I’m sure you’ll fill the space.

Huh, that was easier than Soap would’ve expected. He doesn’t bother answering, just starts to drift off until a Nurse comes in to dim his lights. He wakes up slightly to give them a thanking nod, then properly sets about falling asleep. Thank god he normally slept on his back, he doesn’t know how else he would manage otherwise.

[calledtobethelight]

Run to Win

“Don’t you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize.”

 – 1 Corinthians 9.24-25 (NLT)

As Christians, we all have a race to run. There’s an appointed course set before each one of us.  We must be determined to win our race and keep the faith to lay hold of our heavenly prize – the inheritance of eternal salvation and the victor’s crown of righteousness (2 Timothy 4.7-8).

This does not contradict the fact that we are saved by grace through faith, for the Bible says in Romans 6.23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God [that is, His remarkable, overwhelming gift of grace to believers] is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” However, it is the responsibility of the believer to “work out (cultivate, carry out to the goal, and fully complete) one’s salvation with reverence and awe and trembling (self-distrust, with serious caution, tenderness of conscience, watchfulness against temptation, timidly shrinking from whatever might offend God and discredit the name of Christ) (Philippians 2.12).” Although it is not in our own strength that we must work out our salvation for God empowers us, we still must be diligent in keeping the faith to ensure we will not be disqualified as Paul warns (Philippians 2.13, 1 Corinthians 9.27, 2 Corinthians 13.5, Galatians 5.7).

But how can we run our race effectively? How can we run to win? Here are 7 essential keys to run your race.

1.      Keep your eyes on Jesus

When we fix our eyes on Jesus, we maintain focus. Everything in this world is a distraction that can take us off course, but when we keep our eyes on Jesus, we stay spiritually minded. Colossians 3.1-2 states, “Keep seeking the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind and keep focused habitually on the things above [the heavenly things], not on things that are on the earth [which have only temporal value].” We gravitate towards the things we focus on. If we keep our eyes on the things of this world, we will only value temporary things. However, if we keep our eyes on Jesus – the Author and the Finisher of our faith, He will perfect our faith in Him and by this faith, we have the victory over the world (Hebrews 12.2, 1 John 5.4-5).

Jesus is also our example. When we look to Christ and see how He endured the cross “for the joy [of obtaining the prize] that was set before Him” and triumphed, we can take courage to persevere in our trials and not become faint in our minds because Jesus has overcome the world and He lives on the inside of us (Hebrews 12.2-3, 1 John 5.4-5). John 16.33 states, “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have [perfect] peace and confidence. In the world you have tribulation and trials and distress and frustration; but be of good cheer [take courage; be confident, certain, undaunted]! For I have overcome the world. [I have deprived it of power to harm you and have conquered it for you.]”

We are victorious when we keep our eyes on Jesus!

 

2.      Strip off sin and every unnecessary weight

In a race where “endurance and active persistence” are vital, any burden or weight in the race would slow the runner down or make them stop progressing altogether (Hebrews 12.1). It is easier to run free. Galatians 5.1 says, “It was for this freedom that Christ set us free [completely liberating us]; therefore, keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery [which you once removed].” Sin is bondage. It is a weight that will keep us from going forward by easily entangling and tripping us up.

But in Christ Jesus, we are free. In Christ, we have the power to overcome sin and temptation. In Christ, we have the victory. We must strip off sin and anything hindering our effectiveness in the race so we can endure and succeed (Hebrews 12.1).

 

3.      Let go of the past

You can’t move forward while looking backward or you’ll remain stuck. Stuck in a mindset. Stuck in guilt. Stuck in regret for your past mistakes. When you look back, it won’t change your past. It will only keep you from moving forward. Philippians 3.13-14 states, “Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the [heavenly] prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Forget your past. Forgive yourself. Fix your eyes forward so you can move forward.

2 Corinthians 5.17 states, “Therefore if anyone is in Christ [that is, grafted in, joined to Him by faith in Him as Savior], he is a new creature [reborn and renewed by the Holy Spirit]; the old things [the previous moral and spiritual condition] have passed away. Behold, new things have come [because spiritual awakening brings a new life].” In Christ, who you used to be is gone and passed away. Take courage. You are not defined by your past anymore. You are a new creature. You have a new life. All things concerning you are made new because of Christ Jesus. Run your race in the freedom of this truth!

 

4.      Follow the rules

We must be doers of the Word of God to excel in our race.  2 Timothy 2.5 states, “And if anyone competes as an athlete [in competitive games], he is not crowned [with the wreath of victory] unless he competes according to the rules.” The only way to win a game is to know how to play. Likewise, we cannot be ignorant of the instructions and commandments in the Bible if we want to win our race or we will never succeed. We must obey God and His commandments.

Psalm 119.32 states, “I will [not merely walk, but] run the way of Your commandments, when You give me a heart that is willing.” We must know, understand, and rightly apply God's Word to our lives. Once we do, we won’t take tentative steps but run purposefully in our race.

 

5.      Be zealous

When a person walks for the duration of their race, it doesn’t express urgency, passion, or a desire to win. When you run, it communicates love and a zeal for the things of God. Your running is the exclamation point on what you believe! Romans 12.1 states, “Don’t be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.” Keep your zeal for God and love Him with all of your heart. We must not be cold or even lukewarm, we must hotly pursue the Lord with all our hearts to attain our eternal prize (Revelations 3.15-16).

 

6.      Have a vision

There must be a vision to stay on the appointed course set before you. Vision sets your eyes above your current circumstances to the destiny God has planned for you. Proverbs 29.17 states, “Where there is no vision [no redemptive revelation of God], the people perish.” When people have no vision, they die because there is no direction and no revelation from God for their lives.

Psalm 32.8 says, “The Lord says, 'I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.'” When you trust God and surrender to His plans and purposes for your life, He will guide you and direct you to the best pathway. Once you allow God to lead and guide you, you can run into your destiny without fear of a misstep. Habakkuk 2.2 states, “Then the Lord answered me and said, ‘Write the vision and engrave it plainly on [clay] tablets so that the one who reads it will run.” You are not aimless or uncertain when you have vision. You are confident in your success because God directs your steps.

7.      Be consistent

Consistency is necessary to endure your race. 1 Corinthians 9.25, “Now every athlete who [goes into training and] competes in the games is disciplined and exercises self-control in all things.” A runner benefits from the consistency of training, exercising self-control, and buffeting their body to win the race (1 Corinthians 9.27). Likewise, we must exercise spiritual disciplines to endure the race, such as reading the bible daily and praying in the Spirit. We must buffet our body by crucifying our flesh and we must “walk and live [habitually] in the [Holy] Spirit [responsive to and controlled by and guided by the Spirit]” (Galatians 5.16, 24-25). When we are consistent in our spiritual discipline and training, we can endure the length of the race set before us because we have equipped ourselves to persevere. When we are consistent in our spiritual discipline and training, we are setting ourselves up to win!

Each of these keys is necessary to win the race. Therefore, we must not be neglectful to do what is required of us. Finish strong! Keep the faith! Run to win and you will receive the eternal prize!

[faux-ecrivain]

Frightened Ex x Yandere reader

“When Cupid gets it wrong, goodbyes can be messy.” - that private eye who worked for the HPD for thirty years from that one episode of Hawaï Five-O where that girl in a red dress died and the private eye was narrating the story

(Trigger warning: murder, death and amputation are mentioned/implied.)

(Also, you, the reader, are the yandere here)

(Sixteenth Official Post)

(Merry Christmas)

(Happy Holidays)

(name is Anthony)

          When you and Anthony first started dating he thought you were an absolutely wonderful person, he admired you and would go out of his way to please you. Then just 4 years into your relationship, you started to behave… strangely. You were more possessive and would often isolate him from his friends (regardless of gender).     

         Sometimes, you would makes jokes about locking him up and killing all his friends, which made him very uncomfortable. Luckily, after expressing his discomfort, you quit joking like that, but now he was wary around you and he was considering breaking up with you. However, when he expressed this decision to you, you informed him that you wouldn’t let him leave and would make sure he knew his place.

——————————————————————

   Anthony’s breath was muffled by his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as he prays that you won’t find him. He doesn’t know why you’re acting like this, treating him like a prisoner and trying to lock him away in your dreary, albeit big, house. He shuffles further into the closet, his knees up and his legs pulled close to his body. Tears fall down his face and he sniffles, what once was a beautiful, loving relationship, was now massacred beyond fixing.

         He listens as you creep through the hallway, he hears your ominous voice call out to him and he fights the urge to run into your arms. Yes, he’s scared, but often when he was scared you would be there to comfort him. Your footsteps grow closer, the floorboards creak and you stop in front of the closet. You taunt him, calling out for him, even though he’s certain you know he’s in there. “Anthony, baby, wheeere are yoou? Are you hiding from me?” Shivers wrack his body the moment he hears a haunting giggle escape your mouth. 

          “That’s not very nice, Anthony. Didn’t your mommy ever teach you manners?” Anthony’s tears fall faster as you bring up his mother, he’s sure you’ve done something to her, probably killed her. You begin moving again, the creaking of the floorboards lessen in volume and he assumes you’ve moved away from the closet. Still, he doesn’t leave and instead waits inside the closet for a matter of minutes. He listens diligently for your footsteps and hopes you won’t come back. 

          After at least 20 minutes have passed he cracks the closet door open, his eyes roam across the expanse of the hallway and his fear lessens once he sees the hall empty. He sneaks out of the closet, quietly closes the door behind him and sneaks in the direction opposite of the way that you went. For a moment, Anthony believes he can escape, he thinks he can make it to the door and run away from you. He thinks he came leave you behind, but he was wrong, so very wrong. 

          His heart stops when you call out to him, your voice smug and haughty. “There you are, baby, trying to escape, again?” He turns around and his body freezes as you approach. His heart beats erratically and he can barely form a single thought in his brain. Then he quickly snaps to when he realizes the distance between you two is slowly closing. He wills his legs to work and, when they do, he rushes off in a random direction. One that will hopefully allow him freedom or a moment’s salvation. 

         You groan when he runs off again, it was getting quite annoying and each time he ran it made you want to immobilize him. You snicker at the thought, but since you have no desire to traumatize him, more than you already have, you decide against such an idea. You stalk after him, taking your time as you knew he was likely lost in the maze of a house you own. Your throat vibrates as you begin to hum, a tune much too joyful for the present time. You hear Anthony crack open the door to the left wing of your house, well it isn’t actually your house, but does that really matter? 

          Anthony closes the heavy mahogany door behind him and wince at the loud slam it releases. He wrings his hands together and begins to walk down the darkened hallway, he’s never seen this part of the house before, it’s all worn down. He exhales and continues walking, his eyes glancing around his surroundings and taking in the strange decorations hanging up. Some of them seem entirely too old for such a modern house, some seem to be straight from the eighteenth century. 

          He doesn’t have time to dwell on your strange interior choices, as he hears the mahogany doors creak open and slam shut. His hearts begins to race, once more, and he knows you’re near. He fears that he might never escape and that you would catch him. He’s so scared, so frightened. He doesn’t know what to do, should he run or should he hide?

(I know everyone voted yes go back to my old style, but I didn’t know how else to write this oneshot. Don’t worry though, I’ll still listen to you guys and will continue writing in my old style, but I might also write this way.)

(Hope you enjoyed and hopefully you guys are excited for the next part!)

—————————————————-

(Don’t worry, I’m going to post all three (or two) endings, I just need to know which one you want first.)

(Expect another post around 12:30 this afternoon)

[jisungsdaydreamer]

The Boy On My Rooftop

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS Appearances are always deceiving, especially with someone like him.

Pairing: Jungkook x gn!reader Genre: high school au, hurt/comfort, angst Warnings: Parental abuse (physical), domestic abuse (physical), swearing, implied depression, brief mention of bullying Word Count: 1.4k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

Late at night, you sometimes feel like the world has come to a standstill. The chirping of the crickets is locked into a constant drone, the minuscule lettering of the words in your textbook don't register in your mind, and your one salvation, the air conditioning, has shut down, leaving you sweltering in the early September heat. 

Everyone else in your house is fast asleep, leaving you in your misery alone. The clock doesn’t seem to move, prolonging your torture. There are less than four hours before you’re supposed to be getting ready, but you’d rather stay awake now than have to be so rudely pulled out of your slumber and back into reality. School.

You’ve always been quiet, but it feels like your voice has been silenced even more than ever since you came to this town two months ago for your father’s job. Throughout the crowded halls of your new high school, you keep your head down and blend into the background, losing yourself in whatever book you can get your hands on. You sit in the back of class, diligently completing your work and fulfilling the role of a good student from afar, where others won’t question you. But you harbor your own queries, and they all concern him.

Jeon Jungkook. The most popular boy at school, the one who you’ve deemed tragically handsome. There’s a quality of sorrow associated with his looks, because that’s all people can seem to love, especially when you’ve personally observed a much more captivating aspect about him.

He’d calmly defended you from some pathetic bully looking for a bone to pick. After the offender had slunk off, you tried stuttering out your gratitude to Jungkook, but he interrupted you.

“It hurts me to see others unhappy. Take care of yourself.”

He merely shot you a small smile and walked away, back to class and away from your questions. After that, your wandering eyes had yearned to capture another one of his cryptic moments of weakness. 

The fact that he’s your neighbor pulls at you even further. Your two houses are separated by a great oak tree, both of your windows nearly connected by the ancient branches. Many times, you’ve inadvertently noticed him through his window that he doesn’t bother covering. These are the serene slices of his life that delicately pull you in, from the way he quietly finishes his homework without getting distracted, to the way he just sits by his window, gazing out with a forlorn look in his eyes. 

In the small rectangle of his window, illuminated yellow by the soft light of his bedroom, Jungkook lives peacefully in your vision. You keep trying to draw his dimensions, but fail when you see him laughing with his boisterous bunch during lunch or loudly complaining about school to his friends, when in fact, you know he’s been secretly passing all of his classes with flying colors. You know that there’s much more to him than the vapid facade he masquerades around in at school, but for now, he remains a static character. He may be kind, but no less shallow than all of the others.

However, he’s not your primary interest in this reserved suburban hell that’s masked by the enticement of the big city surrounding. For those restless nights, you found a way to climb out of your window and up through the beams on the side. You like to lay on the coarse rooftop and gaze up the moon, when it's not obscured by the wispy clouds.

That’s what you resolve to do on this particular hopeless night, unlocking your window and carefully scrambling up the side of your house, anticipating the midnight view. However, you lose your balance and catalyze your accidental descent that will surely end badly, startled by a dark figure sitting in your spot. 

But the intruder reacts quickly, their hand grasping yours and pulling you up in an admirable display of strength. You both topple back onto the rooftop, and before your unwelcome savior creeps off, you pull back the hood that obscures their face. Jungkook.

Your eyes widen in surprise, but you quickly recover, narrowing your eyes in suspicion instead. “What are you doing?”

He shakes his head, casting his eyes down in a display of apology. “I’m sorry. I watch you come up here a lot.”

“But why are you here?” You don’t mind his presence, sharing this sacred place with you. You don’t hate the idea of a companion. But you don’t understand why he of all people would need to come here.

“I used to come here all the time, before you moved in. Your roof has a better view, and I don’t know. I just needed to get away.”

“Get away from what?”

He chuckles dryly. “You ask a lot of questions.”

You just decide to answer truthfully, because you don’t see a point in the opposite. “That’s because I have a lot of them. About you.” 

“Oh, really?” Jungkook examines you closely, and you feel yourself heat up under his gaze. “Ask away, then. What do you want to know?”

You just gape at him for a moment, taken off guard with his invitation to satiate your curiosity. But then you focus on his lips, or rather, the small trickle of blood that runs from the corner of them. “Is that from when you pulled me up?”

Jungkook immediately raises his fingers to his mouth, swiping the red away. “It’s nothing.”

You stay quiet, just watching Jungkook. He reaches his arms back and rubs his back, wincing in discomfort. You let the minutes pass, before his incessant squirming becomes concerning.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?”

He looks up at you, and you’re surprised to see the tears glistening in them. His expression is nothing but exhausted, too broken to cover up and too pained to put off. “Fuck, I can't take it anymore. Can you please see if it’s still bleeding?”

“See wha-”

Jungkook cuts you off by pulling his heavy black sweatshirt up to his shoulder blades, angling himself so that his back directly faces you. And the sight is sickening, the way the individual lashes— obviously induced by some kind of a belt—pile on top of each other in a mishappen criss-cross pattern. Some are older, while others are fresh. The latest batch manifests in a raw, angry gash, tainting the pale skin of his back with the stickiness of the maroon liquid. Further down his spine bloom more bruises, in shades of purple and black.

You feel dizzy at what’s displayed in front of you, not because you can’t handle blood, but because of the repulsiveness that you feel for yourself. You hate yourself for criticizing Jungkook’s character, for deeming it banal and empty, when this is the struggle he had locked away from prying eyes like yours.

“You- there’s so much blood,” you sputter dumbly.

Jungkook sighs, pulling his sweatshirt down and turning back around. He has blinked away his unshed tears, only guilt remaining in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have shown you. I know it’s a lot.”

You shake your head in disbelief and at a loss for coherent words. “...How?”

“My dad. His main victim was my mom, and after she left, it became me.” Jungkook grimaces, fear written all over his expression. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’ll make everything worse.”

You want to, though. You want to call the goddamn police and scream at them for failing to do their jobs. You want to march over to the neighboring house and give that bastard a taste of his own medicine, to tear him apart like he’s done to Jungkook. But you don’t. You keep your mouth shut. 

Instead of everything you should be doing, you move closer to Jungkook and hug him tightly to your chest. He finally collapses into you in heaving sobs, taking comfort in a stranger’s embrace. You rub your hands down his body, carefully avoiding the wounds on his back. You stroke his soft hair, trying not to let your own tears escape your eyes. 

The moon shines its silvery sheen on you both, a reminder of the hope that you yearn to harbor right now. Tomorrow, you might go back to being strangers. Or maybe you’ll be friends. You hope for the latter option. The minutes ticking by hurt like hell, more than anything, but you both will still cherish them as a time of vulnerability and trust. You’ll remember this moment with the beautiful boy on your rooftop.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Coming Judgment

1 Now, beloved, I am writing this second epistle to you; in both, I am stirring up your pure minds by causing you to remember 2 In order for you to be mindful of the words that were spoken before by the holy prophets, and of the commandment of the Lord and Savior, spoken by us, the apostles;

3 Knowing this first, that in the last days there will come mockers, walking according to their own personal lusts, 4 And asking, “Where is the promise of His coming? For ever since the forefathers died, everything has remained the same as from the beginning of creation.” 5 But this fact is hidden from them– they themselves choosing to ignore it– that by the Word of God the heavens existed of old, and the earth came forth out of water and amid water, 6 By which the world at that time, having been deluged with water, had itself been destroyed. 7 But the present heavens and earth are being held in store by His Word, and are being reserved for fire in the day of the judgment and destruction of the ungodly.

8 Now, beloved, do not let this one fact be hidden from you: that with the Lord, one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 9 The Lord is not delaying the promise of His coming, as some in their own minds reckon delay; rather, He is longsuffering toward us, not desiring that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.

10 However, the day of the Lord shall come as a thief in the night in which the heaven itself shall disappear with a mighty roar, and the elements shall pass away, burning with intense heat, and the earth and the works in it shall be burned up.

11 Since all these things are going to be destroyed, what kind of persons ought you to be in holy conduct and godliness, 12 Looking forward to and striving for the coming of the day of God, during which the heavens, being on fire, shall be destroyed, and the elements, burning with intense heat, shall melt? 13 But according to His promise, we look forward to a new heaven and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells.

14 For this reason, beloved, since you are anticipating these things, be diligent, so that you may be found by Him in peace, spotless and blameless. 15 And bear in mind that the longsuffering of our Lord is salvation, exactly as our beloved brother Paul, according to the wisdom given to him, has also written to you; 16 As he has also in all his epistles, speaking in them concerning these things; in which are some things that are difficult to understand, which the ignorant and unstable are twisting and distorting, as they also twist and distort the rest of the Scriptures, to their own destruction. 17 Therefore, beloved, since you know this in advance, be on guard against such practices, lest you be led astray with the error of the lawless ones, and you fall from your own steadfastness; 18 Rather, be growing in the grace and the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be glory both now and into the day of eternity. Amen. — 2 Peter 3 | A Faithful Version (AFV) Holy Bible, A Faithful Version © 2020 A Faithful Version. All Rights Reserved. Cross References: Genesis 1:6; Genesis 1:9; Genesis 7:11-12; Psalm 56:5; Psalm 77:8; Psalm 90:4; Psalm 102:26; Ecclesiastes 8:11; Isaiah 5:19; Isaiah 24:19; Isaiah 30:18; Isaiah 34:4; Isaiah 60:21; Isaiah 65:17; Isaiah 66:15; Jeremiah 17:15; Jeremiah 23:36; Daniel 7:9; Micah 1:4; Luke 1:70; John 12:48; Acts 3:21; Acts 9:17; Romans 11:36; Romans 13:11-12; 1 Corinthians 10:12; 1 Corinthians 15:58; Galatians 5:4; Philippians 2:15; 1 Timothy 4:1; Hebrews 6:9; 1 Peter 2:11; 2 Peter 2:5; 2 Peter 2:20

[childofchrist1983]

When Jesus Christ asks us to follow Him, He doesn’t invite us to be spectators. He doesn’t call us to be consumers who sit in Church, enjoy a show, and then return to our normal lives. Instead, He calls us to work alongside Him, to share His light, love and Kingdom with others by our actions and our words. A life surrendered to Jesus is sure to look different from the life that He called us from.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for inviting all true Christian believers into His Kingdom of Heaven. Thank Him for saving us, gifting us our eternal salvation and for giving us a purpose in His continuing duty in this world. May He teach us how to love the way He loves, so that we may serve others through His hands. May He help to plant His Holy Word deep in our hearts, so that we speak His Gospel Truth and live by it daily, as He prepares us and uses us for His Kingdom's honor and glory. For the praise, honor and glory is His and His alone!

Everyday, we must remember to thank Him for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and guilt. May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[theprayerfulword]

June 26

Matthew 28:20 Jesus said, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Psalm 62:8 Trust in [God] at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge.

Judges 5:21 March on, my soul; be strong!

Matthew 19:26 Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Isaiah 41:10,13 Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand… 13 For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the One who helps you.

Psalm 73:23-24 Nevertheless I am continually with Thee; Thou hast taken hold of my right hand. 24 With Thy counsel Thou wilt guide me, and afterward receive me to glory.

May you know that the Word of God is sure, for He watches over the words spoken by His prophets to bring His will to pass, and though it takes years as men measure it, His purpose will be accomplished through willing vessels whom He raises up. 2 Kings 9, Isaiah 55

May you understand that when you see an arrogant heart in the midst of humbling circumstances, that God's judgment is near, for in His mercy He will bring a person to repentance or to ruin. 2 Kings 9

May your love for God and trust in Him be great enough that you are willing to turn from the “little” sins as well as the gross sins, from false worship as well as false gods, from “gainful” sins as well as wasteful sins, lest the Lord begin to deal with you to purify your heart and cleanse your thoughts, deepening your desire for His truth. 2 Kings 9

May you always rejoice when the Word of God is preached to all, and be willing to receive all who accept Him in repentance and conversion, not in jealous exclusion of others as some of the Jews did. Acts 17

May your hunger for God's truth and your thirst for God's ways daily lead you to God's Word, receiving it gladly and searching it diligently. Acts 17

May you stand before those who hold many beliefs and present to them the one truth that is needful for them, giving no attention to the naysayers but reaching out to those whose hearts have been prepared to receive the good seed of the gospel. Acts 17

My child, what promises are you building on? My promises of salvation and deliverance give you a foundation that is both strong and straight. My assurances of direction and guidance give you the building blocks which align your work to My will as you recognize Me as the cornerstone, true and unwavering. My pledge to send the Holy Spirit as Comforter and Teacher gives you the living mortar that binds the unchanging building blocks together, breathing life and vision into a loose pile of stone and bricks to form a strong and beautiful structure which illustrates My grace and reflects My glory. But you must always check your materials, My eager one, and seek Me to evaluate your work. It is ever the tendency of man to use what is in reach and try to incorporate wood for bricks, adding stubble to the mortar, but this will weaken the structure I am guiding you to build. It must be able to withstand the storms of wind that the world will experience, and survive the floods beating against it that I will unleash soon, and endure the fiery trials that will come upon the whole world. If you rely on your own promises, My precious co-laborer, all that you hang on it will fall to the ground. Do you proclaim, as Peter did, “Though all men be offended because of thee, yet I will never be offended”? My loving one, only in the promises given by Us can you place any confidence. Do not supplement My word, but rely on it totally.

May the Lord be the focus of your conversation and your lifestyle, your words and your deeds, your intentions and your actions, for no one is more worthy, though none will be more despised, but He will watch over the Word that you talk and walk to perform it, accomplishing what He wills, so that it will not return to Him void. Acts 17, Isaiah 55

May you take refuge in the Lord, your Rock, Who loves you and guards you, training your hands for war in the heavens and your fingers for spiritual battle, for He Whom you praise is your eternal stronghold and strong deliverer, your ever-present shield, Who subdues the unseen powers around you, placing them under you. Psalm 144

May the Lord reach down His hand from on high to deliver you from the mighty waters and rescue you from the hands of foreigners whose mouths are full of lies and whose right hands are deceitful, for though you are a mere mortal whose days are like a fleeting shadow, God parts His heavens to come down, sending forth His lightning to scatter the enemy and shooting His arrows to rout them. Psalm 144

May you sing a new song to God, making music to the One Who gives victory to His people and delivers His servants, redeeming you from the deadly sword and rescuing you from the hands of foreigners, for then your children will prosper and your barns will be filled with every kind of provision, while your livestock will increase by thousands; your defenses will not be penetrated, there will be no cry of distress in the streets, and no one will be taken captive, for you will be blessed when you make God your Lord. Psalm 144

May the knowledge God has given you be demonstrated when you set bounds on your words, and your understanding illustrated by an even temper and excellent spirit. Proverbs 17:27

[traumacatholic]

Happy New Year everyone, I hope the new year is good to you!

That Thou wilt bless the crown of the coming year with Thy bounty, and quench the flames of discord, enmity and strife; that Thou wilt give us peace, perseverance, sincere love, and a virtuous disposition; we beg Thee, Lord, hear us and have mercy.

If 2023 has been a rough year for you, then I'm praying the new year is better for you.

If 2023 has been a good year for you, then I'm praying the same goodness carries on into the new year.

As much as 2023 has been a really difficult year for me, I'm very grateful for all of the people on here. The people that took their time to pray for me, to offer me support when I've been struggling with things. The people that have offered me friendship and care. Nothing I can do or say can ever really do justice to all of the support and care that people on here have shown me.

I hope that 2024 grants you the healing, love, and care that you need.

Under the read more is some other prayers for the start of a New Year

O Master, Lord our God, Fountain of life and immortality, the Creator of all things both visible and invisible, Who has appointed seasons and years by Thy power, and dost direct all things by Thy most-wise and all-gracious providence: We thank Thee for Thy compassions, which Thou hast poured out upon us during the passing time of our life, and we entreat Thee, O All-compassionate Lord! Bless the crown of the coming year with Thy goodness.  Preserve our civil authorities; multiply the days of their life in unalterable health, and grant them progress in every virtue.  Grant Thy good things from above unto Thy people: health and salvation, and good hastening in all things.  Deliver Thy Holy Church, this city, and every city and land from every evil circmstance, granting them peace and tranquility.  And count us worthy that we may always offer thanksgiving unto Thee, the Father Who is without beginning, together with Thine Only-begotten Son, and Thine All-holy and Lifegiving Spirit, God glorified in one essence, and that we may hymn Thy most-holy Name.  Glory to Thee, O God, our benefactor, unto the ages of ages.  Amen.

--------

O Lord our God, You are the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the Creator of time, existing before time and outside of time, the same yesterday, today and forever. You are the Pantocrator, the absolute Ruler who exercises sovereign authority over the entire universe and its laws. You are not limited by any natural events and occurrences, or by our action or inaction. The world is not driven by blind forces, but is governed wisely and lovingly by Your divine Providence.

You, O King and Master of the world, govern by Your almighty will the world You created as a captain governs his ship. We have nothing to be afraid of, as long as You are at the rudder. The very elements of nature obey You. Nothing happens by chance. What happens to us does not happen at random. Not a single hair from our heads falls to the ground without Your powerful will. We are in Your hands. What we are, whatever good we have in us, comes from You, the source of every goodness.

We ask You humbly, our Savior, as we enter this New Year of our salvation, to bless us all; to bless our endeavors, and everything we do. We ask You, O Lord, to bless the time You give us, that we may pass this new year of Your grace and the lifespan You have given us in repentance, forgiveness, patience, tolerance, peace, the fight against our passions, the practicing of the virtues, in doing Your will, not ours, and in accepting it cheerfully, without groaning or complaint.

Grant us, O Father Almighty, sincere faithfulness, wakeful preparedness and active witness, to be strong and grow in faith and love for You, and work diligently for the establishment of Your Kingdom, a Kingdom of peace and justice. Instill in us the longing for the establishment of Your heavenly Kingdom, a Kingdom of everlasting life, peace and joy.

We also beseech You, O Lord, to bless the entire world, and all Nations. Guide them to You, that they may come to know You, the only true God, and to do Your Holy Will. And protect, O Lord, Your Holy Church, everywhere, so that with one voice and one heart we may all praise and glorify Your most Holy and magnificent Name, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, now and forever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

[wolint]

SPIRITUAL LITERACY!

SPIRITUAL LITERACY

2 Timothy 2:15

 

Education is important! Literacy is needed for progress. Illiteracy is the inability to read or write. It can also refer to a lack of knowledge in a particular subject. Illiteracy is a significant issue worldwide, affecting millions of people and impacting their ability to function effectively in society and be the powerful believers that God created and called them to be because of spiritual illiteracy.

We go to academic institutions to better ourselves in all kinds of learning for personal, professional, or vocational purposes, but how often do we apply the same zeal, time, resources, money, and determination to the word of God? Not much!

The Lord encourages us to study His word carefully. Job 22:21 says we need to acquaint ourselves with the Lord and be at peace. The peace that comes only from the knowledge and power of the word of God.

So many Christians today can repeat what their pastors, prophets, and “men of God” have said but are woefully unable to quote any scriptures or make meaning of the message of the cross. Spiritual literacy is particularly important; it’s much more than Bible study. It is striving, or diligence and zealous persistence in accomplishing the goal of knowing God through the study of His word.

Precision and accuracy born of studious striving are required in biblical interpretation, beyond all other enterprises, because the student is managing God’s Word that is spirit and life according to John 6:63.

Acts 17:11 tells us of the Bereans whose examples we ought to emulate because first, they heard the doctrine of the Gospel attentively, just as we do daily, more than they did even. Then they received the doctrine with the readiness of mind and the evidence of its truth, after which they searched the Scriptures to confirm what they learned: to see whether the word corresponded with the alleged fulfilment in Christ, his works, and sufferings. This implies that they didn’t take the word at face value as many of us do.

They studied, not taking the word of the prophet as final. They wanted to see and understand for themselves, and they continued to search the Scriptures daily. Their zeal and diligence were evident to all; it was evident in their knowledge and accuracy of the scriptures.

Like King Solomon in Ecclesiastes 7:25, we too must apply ourselves to explore knowledge and gain wisdom, not leave it to chance that we may come across someone one day who may know and inform or teach us all we need to know.

We can’t have an effective and victorious Christian walk without intimate knowledge of the word of God. We know little about God until we study the Bible, “And our eyes become open to see God’s wonders according to Psalm 119:18.

“Be diligent to present yourself to God…” present yourself before the Lord, allow Him to speak and open Scriptures so your heart burns with the revelation of His word, as happened in Luke 24:32. This is the Living Word, which comes through the Holy Spirit, impacting our hearts and minds and transforming us. Solomon had such a “listening heart,” that he was able to receive great revelation and wisdom from the Lord.

In 1 Kings 3:3, we find that Solomon loved the Lord and God said to Solomon, “Behold, I have given you a wise and discerning heart.”

God commands His servants to study to show themselves approved before God. The Bible is the inspired Word of God. It is His written Instruction Book to humanity. It answers every important question in life. It explains HOW TO LIVE—and reveals the road to salvation.

Studying and understanding the Bible is very difficult for many, either because of the language or the meaning, but we must study the scriptures faithfully. There is nothing anyone will tell you that will crowd out what you acquired yourself.

PRAYER: Father, help me study and know your word and not to parrot “men of God” or self-help books, but by the Holy Spirit, the spirit of truth in Jesus’ name, amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT’L PRAYER MIN.

[versegpt]

Biblical Interpretation: A Guide to Understanding Scriptures

Interpreting Bible verses is a profound journey that requires both reverence and careful consideration. Here are some steps that can guide you in properly interpreting Bible verses:

Prayerful Approach: Begin with prayer, seeking God's guidance and wisdom as you delve into His Word. Ask for clarity and understanding, knowing that the Holy Spirit illuminates the Scriptures.

Contextual Understanding: Consider the verse within its broader context. This includes the chapter, book, authorship, historical background, cultural setting, and literary genre. Understanding these elements helps prevent misinterpretation.

Literal vs. Figurative: Determine whether the verse is meant to be understood literally or figuratively. Some passages are straightforward, while others use symbolism, metaphors, or parables to convey deeper truths.

Cross-Referencing: Explore related verses and passages that shed light on the verse you're studying. The Bible interprets itself, so comparing Scripture with Scripture can provide a clearer understanding.

Study Tools: Utilize reliable study tools such as concordances, lexicons, commentaries, and Bible dictionaries. These resources offer insights into the original languages, cultural nuances, and theological implications.

Historical and Cultural Context: Recognize the historical and cultural context in which the verse was written. This includes understanding customs, practices, beliefs, and societal norms of the time.

Theological Framework: Interpret the verse within the broader framework of Christian theology. Consider how it aligns with foundational doctrines such as the nature of God, salvation, redemption, and the work of Jesus Christ.

Practical Application: Apply the verse to your life and community. Consider its relevance to personal faith, ethical decisions, relationships, service, and living out the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Principles over Practices: Distinguish between timeless principles and cultural practices. While the principles of Scripture remain relevant, certain cultural practices described may not directly apply to modern contexts.

Seeking Wisdom: Finally, seek wisdom from trusted spiritual mentors, pastors, or theologians. Discussing difficult passages and interpretations within a community of believers can offer valuable insights and perspectives.

By approaching Bible interpretation with humility, diligence, and a reliance on God's guidance, you can gain a deeper understanding of His Word and its transformative power in your life.

[keanuquotes]

“Decay is inherent in all composite things. Work out your salvation with diligence.”

shakyamuni buddha

[stigmatvm]

ibara and ocd - hc. it's a biggie if you read this to the end ill kiss you on the mouth

It's… impossible to really understand Ibara as a person without, at least, somewhat understanding the impact Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder has on her personality and quality of life, even if it doesn't define him as a person. But the path her logic goes and her compulsions to act are deeply affected by it, and things that may seem nonsensical otherwise begin to fit into the larger picture nicely, if in a way that is frustrating by nature in a different sense.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is, as the name suggests, a disorder characterized by obsessive thought patterns that result in compulsions to avoid or mitigate the anxiety brought on by the obsessive thoughts. It is further broken down into subtypes for organizational purposes, but I'm not going to "classify" all of Ibara's o/c, nor would it be necessary. Most people end up getting a smattering of them all anyways. However, the ones that Ibara most frequently and most passionately endures are Scrupulosity related, both moral and religious (it's hard to have one without the other).

OCD is described occasionally as "a fear of a loss of identity due to a lack of vigilance", which applies well to the idea of scrupulosity OCD. To Ibara, a slip-up in diligent adherence to compulsion and ritual and self discipline is really a matter of damnation or salvation, and does come with the looming fear of being a bad person inherently because of his mess up. Guilt, shame, and fear, while maybe not consciously recognized, drive daily actions and thought patterns. And oftentimes, it can be a snake that eats its own tail; the awareness of how odd his compulsions or responses are can trigger fears of an immoral self in a different way, compounding the issue.

Obsessions can be triggered by both external and internal stimuli, i.e. intrusive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts are disruptive thoughts that are repulsive to the haver and feel dissonant to the line of thought, almost as if they weren't your own. They represent your deepest fears and revulsions (not: hidden desires, quirky impulsives-- if the intrusive thoughts won id be dead or in jail you just had an impulse to cut your hair goodnight) and are difficult to shake. Sometimes these can even spiral into long catastrophic mental scenarios playing out over the course of hours, pulling you away from reality. While anyone can have them, it's a frequent and intense symptom of OCD, and Ibara's is no different.

Ibara's intrusive thoughts usually revolve around a few central topics:

harming people, past or future

having lied, knowing or unknowing

blasphemying faith

These themes are the most common, but take on unusual forms frequently, because while the answer to one overarching question may satisfy the sound mind, OCD works differently. Each possibility must be accounted for, no matter how niche, because otherwise you may miss something.

Ibara's obsessions, as mentioned prior, most frequently revolve around scrupulosity, but harm, superstition, false memory, and 'just right' are also common, and they all overlap with each other.

The most obvious example, of course, is Ibara's fixation on lying as a whole. He condemns it entirely, in a way that may come off as extreme to others, and takes extreme measures to avoid it by defining "deception" to include things that we would normally consider to be entirely aboveboard. We see "that deserves a lashing!" as an over-aggressive response to Shishida's strategy, but for Ibara, not responding with the most intense and 'righteous' condemnation is essentially the same as condoning it which is essentially the same as lying which makes her a liar which is both a sin and something bad people do. Identity (being a pious person) lost by lack of vigilance (being complacent in a lie).

Harm as an ocd subset revolves around the idea that you may hurt yourself or other people; and Ibara, having a quirk like he does, is also deeply afraid of the idea that she may injure someone with her thorns. The minority of the injury doesn't matter, it is simply the fact that it could happen that triggers the fear, which is then followed by certain precautions.

Superstition is similar to scrupulosity, but much less related to one's morals-- rather, to the outcome of unknown events. If Ibara does not clean the window sill and doorway with salt water every week, something bad will happen. If you carry this paper cross, you will have good luck. Mental ones, too-- the idea that because she cannot see the future, if he thinks about a possible event, it will automatically no longer happen, which can be good (coping with the idea of a bad situation) or bad (fearing that she's ruined an opportunity). The rules don't necessarily follow any established cultural belief; although certainly influenced by them-- but Ibara must reason through the "rules" of staying safe and keeping others safe, jumping through extra hoops mentally and physically to stave away the debilitating terror that, one day, if he does not do it something terrible may truly happen, and to be so negligent as to allow it is evil.

False Memory, as the name implies, is the obsessive fear that you may have false memories of events or circumstances. Ibara, while a firm believer in his physical senses, has a deep distrust in her own interpretation of things, albeit not for the reasons people may assume. Religious delusions and a somewhat slippery grasp on space+time are secondary to Ibara's worries about understanding other people, what they mean, what they've said, and what they've done. In the moment, it's easy to act, but when looking at the past Ibara feels guilty about carrying negative perceptions of people or even grudges, so he inadvertently convinces himself that he must just be "stupid" instead of having a valid reason for not forgiving, and that something else must have happened.

"Just Right" OCD is harder to put a solid pin in because it's really just a fucking vibe thing. There's a deep dissatisfaction with things, a stress stemming from a feeling that something somewhere is horribly wrong, and you need to adjust whatever it is until it's "just right". For Ibara, this shows in everything from physical labor, to her distaste for math-- Ibara loves to count for the purpose of finding "pleasing" and "good" numbers, and will only do certain things in those numbers-- but math involves multi-step processes that make it difficult to calculate if something is a "good" number or are things that touch perfect, good numbers, which should not be changed. It's a long and frustrating process to try and re-justify every step mentally. She also can't really cope with being interrupted before finishing a task, so even just having to pack up and move to the next class is something that piles on an extra little bit of stress, even if that's more manageable than a larger interruption.

Compulsions are the thoughts and actions one does (and does not do) to mitigate the anxiety around their obsessions. For Ibara, many of them are mental compulsions-- or they're thoughts, not actions one can visibly see. Repeating prayers in her mind, hymns, or even just trying to reason with the mental logic of the obsession are all mental compulsions. Some are verbal, too, including recitation of prayers, hymns, certain words and phrases, using "good speech" via bible allegory, and reassurance seeking.

Reassurance seeking is a type of compulsion often seen in scrupulosity OCD specifically but can show in anywhere the sufferer double and triple checks their thoughts and morals with another person, often trying to talk through a mental checklist of if that thing is 'ok' or not. OCD havers understand their OCD is illogical (although Ibara tries to avoid saying that with her religious ones, as it feels like doubting her faith, which is bad), and so reassurance-seeking is often an embarrassing but necessary compulsion in response to not trusting your own moral character. He knows that asking over and over that you're sure you haven't been scratched is likely bothersome-- but the only alternative is complete and utter misery.

Ibara has physical compulsions, too; counting things, rearranging them, having to finish tasks, ensuring that her handwriting looks a certain way, folding paper crosses, rituals, etc. These tasks very from small to large, and each one serves to try and mitigate fear.

Avoidance is also a compulsion: Ibara avoids any situation where deception may be involved. Ibara avoids even thinking about lying (and when the impulse to lie does come up, that triggers a guilt spiral of its own). Ibara lives by a repetitive schedule, so nothing new can come in and ruin everything. It's the hardest compulsion to catch, because you barely realize you're doing it until confronted.

And Ibara avoids consciously acknowledging these things-- she must when it comes to the forefront of the mind, but he lacks confidence in her own intelligence, so each lapse is either chalked up to being Right (it cant be irrational if you were right!) or being Stupid, as an individual failure to have self-discipline, represented by sobbing over a torn paper cross. These all must be unrelated things, she is in full control of her senses, she is a pious man of God. And because of that, each thing just adds pressure, resulting in more frequent and intense triggerings, and so on. He laments that she didn't used to be this way, internally, but being an anxiety disorder, it's no wonder it got worse after his time in middle school, which she has so readily tried to suppress from memory because of the guilt of living with residual anger and shame and fear. The serpent eats its tail, and he's going to have to confront the issue someday--

but for now, Ibara continues, safe within the strict walls of a moral cloister, a monastery of his own making.