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dontbotherwiththepronunciation · 10 months

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Warning: Anti-God, religion, not overall a very coherent thing these are just thoughts with not a lot of canon foundation but really just thoughts

A while ago I got a response on the survey that was very enthusiastic about the Jesus-Theon comparison and while it remained at enthusiasm and didn't really change my mind about anything, it made me reconsider it because I really enjoyed most of that persons takes and how open and honest they were on the survey and I overall finished reading it and idiotically thought "I want to be friends!", but yeah whatever. It just lead me into rotating the entire issue in my mind again and my opinion hasn't fundamentally changed, but I realised that if one were to compare Theon to Jesus, the angle that could convince me or at least interest me wouldn't be Throbb = Judas/Jesus or TheonJesus = crosses + suffering but instead Jesus & God ≈ Theon & Balon.

This isn't a very well thought type of thing it's just a concept that has been occupying a part of my brain because there aren't a lot of textual similitudes and at the end of the day God is always portrayed in a positive light in abrahamic texts while Balon is written somewhat antagonistically in ASOIAF and fandom also tends to exaggerate him as to turn him into a conservative fascist caricature, but I just really love the "my son is my own sacrificial lamb to the slaughter" idea and I feel that to some extent this is played with in ASOIAF.

In Saramago's The Gospel According to Jesus Christ Jesus has a few conversations with God before starting his journey as messiah and this has always been one of my favourite quotes to come from it.

As duas palavras, mártir, vítima, saíram da boca de Deus como se a língua que dentro tinha fosse de leite e mel,

which, since I only have that book in Portuguese, I will translate to:

Those two words, martyr, victim, came out of his mouth as if the tongue inside him was made of milk and honey,

That text is written right after God tells him that Jesus' only fate on earth is to suffer and die to spread his father's (God) word and greatness, in exchange for that sacrifice he promises martyrdom and the heroism and veneration that comes from martyrdom.

There's also the fact that both of these characters up to their calvary, (symbolic) death and (symbolic) resurrection have been lead partly by the wishes of their fathers. In Jesus' case there is no refusal and he does so willingly and in Theon's case this take usually annoys me since it transforms the cultural alienation and rootlessness into daddy issues, when in my opinion the daddy issues are a by-product of the rootlessness and cultural alienation, but still!

This also leads me into wondering a lot about how Balon was already planning ahead for the war even before Theon's arrival and yes, I think fandom vilifies this far more than it should, but it's still a fun idea to wonder about how certain of his sons safety he was. Aeron mentions how the two had this conversation surrounding Theon and how Balon was praying God that the Starks killed him so he would not stand in Asha's way, in Balon's way. It wouldn't be Balon who killed him, it'd be the Starks. It wouldn't have mattered if Balon prayed for it or not.

In the abrahamic scriptures Jesus relationship with his father is one of the more interesting ones to me because God is horrible and they are both the same, but God has sentenced his son and sends him to the slaughter as a sacrifice to his own greatness only to then let the narrative unfold in a way that is favourable to him and puts the blame on others. It's not God that kills him, it's the romans. It doesn't matter if God planned all this or not.

And this kind of opens a few fun scenarios for me to think about.

I am a very canon person who rarely reads anything that isn't pre-canon, post-adwd or a gap filler, but the few fics I have read in which Theon dies during his captivity are usually appalling or uninteresting to me because of the Stark goggles. The weight of the murder is put on Ned or Robb and we readers are meant to feel sympathetic for their emotional struggle. In Robb's case we don't even get to blame him since part of his lyannafication has made most of the fandom forget that he condoned Theon's torture, was overall cruel with the "I ought to chain you" thing and seemed to be driven more by politics and a messed up concept of duty than personal affections (which are already kind of sketchy for Theon but whatever I don't like fanon Robb I like canon Enjolras-Robb who is a charming, young, rich, revolutionary with anger issues who is capable of being fucking horrible ), so he never gets to be the one to kill him either, he just watches and feels sad. I've enjoyed a few of those! I even have a favourite that is pretty much what I criticised above! But I think the consequences of Theon's potential death during his time with the Starks are a lot more interesting to me when seen through the Greyjoy + Ironborn lenses. Would he become a martyr in order to glorify his father's image as the liberator of his people, as the man who fought for their freedom even at the cost of his own son's life? Would they mourn him? What if Theon would have died during his captivity but not because of rebellion? A while ago I wondered about who Cat would choose to save (if she had to) between Theon & Jon and Jon is the more fun answer for me because it would affect both of these households tremendously and in Theon's case it again leads me to think about martyrdom and sanctity. He wouldn't be the cost of rebellion but the cause, and his place in Ironborn history would probably become closer to that of a saint but how would Balon react to it? Would he play along and claim vengeance the same way Theon does when he claims Bran and Rickon's deaths were payback for his brothers, even if the emotional connection was not as strong as he pretends? Would he feel guilt for it? How would Asha react to this?

And I want to reiterate this because the cons of talking about things you don't hate but don't agree on on the internet is that people willingly misconstruct what you say as to fit a narrative but I lost the irl friend whom I could talk about this with, so: I DON'T BELIEVE IN ANY OF THIS AND I STILL DON'T LIKE THE JESUS-THEON THING but now I am more open minded about it and if I were to be convinced I think this could be a way.

#every time I write anti-god I get the thrill of being an anti [insert teen girl]#speaking #asoiaf #theon greyjoy #balon greyjoy

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radiant-reid · 2 years

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okay imagine starting hanging out with spencer in season 6 and when the emily thing happens you two start to be even more close bcs you help him, take care of him etc and then start dating in season 7 and he’s like “omg someone who stays by my side and who didn't abandon me in times of difficulty what a miracle” so he’s totally in love and you’re like “poor boy suffering more than jesus christ, will he accept therapy?” but you’re also like “i love him so much i don't want to leave his side and protect him from all the evil in the world”

breaking my heart thanks </3

i'd be sending him to therapy because i feel like they had therapy when she 'died' but none after ?

#spencer reid

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nyx-thedragon · 4 months

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my last religion-related creative writing piece (for now).

"Does God?"

I grew up in the Church, being told every week that God loves everyone. That He is merciful and kind. That He loves all his children so much He sent His only son, Jesus, to earth to die for our sins so that we may go to Heaven when we die. I never really bought it. If God is so loving, why would He send His children to Hell simply for not believing in Him? For not praying enough? For wearing mixed fabrics or growing two different crops next to each other? I understand He must punish sinners, but the things that qualify as sins are so great, and broad.

If God is the only god, why is the first commandment "there shall be no other gods before me"? If God knows how things are going to play out, why did He give Adam and Eve the Garden of Eden in the first place? Why did He place the trees in the Garden? If He knew that humans were going to end up suffering, why would He create us?

If God is all-powerful and He loves us so much, why does He let so much suffering happen? Why so much murder? And unnecessary death? Why so many wars? Why the genocides? And slavery? And violence?

Did Cain, before he hit Abel, know that his brother would die? Did he know that humans could die? Was he aware of that fact? Did Adam and Eve know that humans could die from a strike to the head? Did they mourn their son, and curse God, and turn away from Him like He turned away from them? Did they feel lost? Hopeless?

If God loves His children so much and doesn't want us to suffer, then why does He call for the souls of children to join Him in Heaven? Why is His plan for some children to die before they can grow up? Why is His plan to curse their families with grief for the rest of their lives?

Why is His plan for good people to suffer?

If God is really out there, and He loves us and supposedly listens to our prayers, why did He not answer mine? Were my desperate pleas to keep my grandma alive long enough for me to see her one last time not enough? Were my cries to help my dad through his grief, to comfort him in his time of need, not enough? Were any prayers that I sent up to Him even listened to? Or has He abandoned me?

Maybe He's trying to show His presence in my life in little ways. Maybe the feeling I got when my parents went to see my grandma the night she died that I wouldn't see her again was a gift from Him, to prepare me. Maybe that same feeling I had before my great grandma died was the same. Maybe He sends these feelings to me to help me, and prove to me that He's there.

Maybe He is listening.

Maybe He's just too busy to fix everything.

Does God cry? Does He shed a tear when He sees His children suffering? Does He greet the new souls into Heaven with tears running down His face? Does He grieve every life lost? Does He feel emotions in the same way humans do? He did make us in His image, after all.

Does God ever wish He hadn't made the covenant with Noah, to not flood the earth again? Does He wish He could do it again? Wash away the population and start over? To stop all of the awful things happening?

Does God ever regret creating humans?

Does God feel regret?

Does God feel?

this one was a bit more of a train of thoughts than the other ones. It's also a bit more personal. but I need to share it with someone. to strangers on the internet, because that's a lot easier than sharing things like this with my family.

Thank you for reading this. And if you read my other ones, thank you for that as well. I may decide to share more of my creative writing pieces in the future, but I do not know as of right now.

Have a good and safe day or night <3

#religion #god #christianity #catholicism #the bible #theology #religious creative writing #creative writing

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 2 years

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for writing prompts, I've always been a sucker for character studies, and I thought the contrast between John's very reserved routine where he was just cooped up in Kenwood vs. Paul's "king of swinging london" lifestyle post-touring years was very influential in their dynamics later on (think this was discussed in the Rob Sheffield ep. of AKOM), and dunno if it's your preferred kind of writing style - but I always loved the inner voices you gave each of them in ILTY, so would love your take on it!

inspired by you calling Paul a king instead of prince, which is the word I've seen more often :) this didn't end up being about their dynamic exactly and I went sort of off the rails in terms of style lol, but I hope you still enjoy <3

Diarchy ~1.1k words

(from Greek δι-, di-, "double", and -αρχία, -arkhía, "ruled")

“One day, you four will be bigger than Elvis,” Brian told them.

John can still recall Paul’s chuckle.

“Sir, that’s very kind of you and we are sort of brilliant, but no need for false flattery.”

Brian Epstein, immediately taken with Macca’s charm, which the leather trousers and greased hair only superficially concealed, broke into a smile.

“Believe me, I am not in the business of false flattery.” Then he locked eyes with John, with a stare so disarming it reaches across time and space and sends shivers down his spine right now, as he lies in bed, searching for motivation to get up.

Bigger than the King — every day, it’s getting harder to deny it, John realizes, as he pulls the covers up to his chin. Only, at some point, perhaps when he came face-to-face with Elvis himself, all of it – the money, the recognition, the power – became meaningless to him. Now, all he feels is the unimaginable weight of the crown, pulling him down and tightening around his brain, the burden of his medals squeezing his heart and making it ever more difficult to breathe.

Christ, does he want a cigarette right now.

Once again, his stubborn laziness has been defeated by a debilitating craving. John crawls off the king-sized mattress, so large that some nights he isn’t sure Cyn actually shares it with him. After putting on his glasses, he dons a dressing gown, which hangs off his shoulders like a royal mantle.

He is like Louis XIV, he thinks, slowly walking down the steps of Kenwood. He’s been reading a lot of history books lately, one of the only activities he still seems to enjoy, and the parallels haunt him. Here he is, in his closed-off palace, sequestered away from the capital and, whether intentionally or not, from life itself.

Here comes the Sun King, he thinks, floating into the kitchen, where Cyn sits at the table.

He is like Henry VIII, he thinks, rather off-handedly at first, simply in-keeping with the theme of over-indulgent regents — before falling into a minor spiral over what this comparison means for his current marriage.

He may have a son, but he is more and more becoming convinced that what he needs, his wife cannot provide.

He is like King Solomon, glued to his throne and writing his songs; apparently an authority on love and God even, appointed by birth, that is to say, by rotten luck. People come to him, seeking his wisdom, for they have dubbed him “the Smart One”, even whilst he spoils his sense of self, dropping acid and hallucinating three hundred concubines.

He is like Tutankhamun, the fallen Pharaoh; doomed young, buried in gold and treasure, the mask he wears remembered in lieu of his actual face.

How he longs for someone to finally open his crypt; how he fears for whomever might stumble upon it and suffer his curse.

* * *

Bigger than Jesus, Paul thinks, stepping through the gate at Cavendish Avenue. He doesn’t know why John’s misquoted words are in his head at this hour. It is so late that the street lanterns are dark and not a single fan is there to greet him.

As he comes down from the various highs of the evening – the party, the art, the coke – he finds himself contemplating the comparative.

“You’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you, John?” he remembers saying, his best friend half-smirking at him, in an attempt to cover up his profound fear of the disaster he had caused.

“Didn’t say ‘bigger’, did I? Wouldn’t’ve been wrong, though, if I had…”

Paul, unable to keep up his frustration for long, smiled.

“And what does that make us, then?”

John’s eyes glinted.

“Kings of King of kings.”

It’s overwhelming, Paul thinks, entering his quiet townhouse, while remembering his wild night — the celebrations may end, but the music playing in his head never does. Most moments, he is thankful for it, drinking up experiences and ideas alongside the free-flowing booze, but some dark minutes like this one, he wishes for peace; the kind he found so easily as a child, content to daydream on the back seat of a bus.

Everyone wants to speak with him now, everyone wants his consideration and stamp of approval, but the worst part: Paul wants everything, too. He’s not sure when it happened, but there is a looming sense that he’s walked past some point of no return, and he now feels a hunger inside him that will never be quelled.

Paul shakes the rain off his umbrella then hangs it up on his mahogany coat hanger, lifting it as if it were a sceptre. In the dim light, his silk shirt gleams like battle armour, like the glistening personality he has learned to put on when surrounded by crowds.

He is like King Arthur, he thinks, making his way toward the garden for one last smoke before bed; he’s been revisiting stories from his childhood as well as ones he never got around to, in an attempt to understand better. Although he tries desperately to re-distribute the reign he was bestowed with evenly across his Round Table, he will never not be the stand-out sovereign among his peers.

He draws a ciggie from his pack like the sword from the stone.

He is like Alexander the Great. He has built an empire atop another, once thought undefeatable, all before the humble age of thirty. He longs to herald in a new era of cultural sharing, and the fact he does indeed hold the power to do so is tantalizingly terrifying.

He is also plagued by a foreboding that the instant he gives in and lets himself relax, he will drop dead and with him his dominion disintegrate.

Although he tries to stop himself, Paul thinks he may be like the emperor from Andersen’s tale, clad in nothing before all his intimidated subjects. After all this time, he has never quite been able to shake the feeling that he is secretly embarrassing himself and, one day, a few words coming from the most ostensibly innocuous of sources will bring his entire kingdom down.

He is like Odysseus, King of Ithaca; so intoxicated with the thrill of adventure that he may never find his way home, all the while watching those around him give in to their fleeting desires or the whims of wily tricksters, only to pay the ultimate price.

And when it’s been this long, who at home might still be waiting for him to return? Who will grieve?

#<333333 #sorry I feel like I kind of didnt fully hit the mark on your prompt I just got really Really into this motif lol #anyways please do let me know what you think :)#fic #ask #anon #fiona.docx

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king-clyde-wy · 1 month

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Friendly reminder that Christ died on the cross for your sins. And after publishing my books I want to die for Him the way he died for me. Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior, bur frankly, he's YOUR Lord and Svaior too. All the love and appreciation you were seeking in your life can only be truly fulfilled by Him. It is because humans cheat and kill and destroy that we turn to the one and only, the truth and the light.

Many people misinterpret the message, so allow me to correct this common misconception. God does NOT send people to hell. Never has never will. The last thing Jesus wants is for you to go to hell, but if you do not accomplish the duty of the Father the access will not be granted.

The common hatred against Christ makes no sense. You want love? He's got it. You're looking for forgiveness? He's got it. Everything you stand for you think is right, he's got it. Yet we tend to banish him. Why? In the name of some earthly pleasures?? 2 minutes of the greatest pleasure on you can imagine on Earth is NOT worth 2 minutes or 2 seconds in hell. God is the father that will never abandon you or harm you or humiliate you like your own father may have.

I know you're waiting on the next thing, i know what it feels like to own earthly possessions and to be materialistic. Unfortunately I know. I also know you are desperate, but i do not come to you in that sadistic way; rather I say this to you: you're desperate to truly be accepted. Social movements today say they accept you but they can only accept you to the human scale. Humans cheat and lie, Christ doesn't. Choose wisely.

Find in Him a light that does not harm you but rather loves you and truly accepts you for who you are. He is real. He is there. He IS with you. Instead of saying "where was He when i was suffering?" Know that He was there, YOU, I, WE, did not open the door for Him. Nobody in this world wants you to succeed and be happy more than Him.

CHRIST IS LORD.

#follow jesus #christianity

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sojourner-between-worlds · 3 months

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It may just be me, but I think the writing of Judas plays it safe by pandering to people who think that Judas was never a "real disciple" due to the numerous scenes of Judas apparently not getting Jesus. The notion that Judas may have once been a "real disciple" is a terrifying one for many Christians. Judas could have been someone who understood Jesus better than some of the other disciples did, yet still suffered a massive lapse of judgement by the third act.

What would you have thought if the writers had decided, "Let's write the most sympathetic and likeable version of Judas ever! That would make the moment when he hangs himself even more gut wrenching to the audience!"? What would you have thought if Judas had been the one to lose a loved one instead of Thomas? And Judas' can't seem to find any answers about why Jesus raised Lazarus but not his sister, from Jesus? And Judas also can't find any much comfort from the other disciples, then Jesus can only sob and let things play out because scripture must be fulfilled. Then the priests seemingly try to comfort Judas by helping out his sister's family, and Judas decides to hand Jesus over because he thinks if Jesus is in a rough situation, He'll finally give out some proper answers. Then when Judas bumps into the other disciples, they say that he should have died instead of Jesus.

Friend, I have not seen season 4 yet, so thanks for the spoilers. 🙃 (Yes, that "thanks" is sarcastic). Because if that, I did not even finish reading this ask and I am not going to give any kind of answer either because I really can't since I haven't seen season 4.

Maybe wait to send these kinds of questions until after its up in the app or at least maybe ask if the person has seen it yet because I have been trying to avoid spoilers like the plague and now I have seen one that I would have preferred to remain a mystery.

#the chosen #the chosen tv series #the chosen spoilers #the chosen season 4 #the chosen season 4 spoilers

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yhwhrulz · 7 months

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Today's Daily Encounter Thursday, November 23, 2023

That Is His Way

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."1

One morning, an old man went into the market. He was dressed plainly and on his arm he carried a small basket. "I wish to get a fowl for tomorrow's dinner," he said.

The market man showed him a fat turkey, plump and white and ready for roasting.

"Ah! that's just what I want," said the old man. "My wife will be delighted with it."

He paid for it and the market man wrapped it and put it in the basket. Just then a young man stepped up. "I will take one of those turkeys," he said. He was dressed in fine style.

"Here's your money," said the young gentleman; "send it to my house at once."

"I cannot do that," said the market man. "My errand boy is sick today, and there's no one else to send."

"Then how am I to get it home?" asked the young gentleman.

"I suppose you'll have to carry it yourself," said the market man, "It is not heavy."

"Carry it myself!" Who do you think I am? Fancy me carrying a turkey along the street!" said the young gentleman; and he began to grow very angry. The old man who had bought the first turkey was standing nearby and had heard all that was said.

"Excuse me, sir," he said; "but may I ask where you live?"

"I live on Blank Street" answered the young gentleman; "and my name is Johnson."

"Well, that is lucky," said the old man, smiling. "I happen to be going that way and I will carry your turkey, if you will allow me."

"Oh, certainly!" said Mr. Johnson. "You may follow me."

When they reached Mr. Johnson's house, the old man politely handed him the turkey and turned to go.

"My friend, what shall I pay you?" said the young gentleman.

"Oh, nothing sir," answered the old man. "It was no trouble to me, and you are welcome."

He bowed and went on. Young Mr. Johnson looked after him and wondered. Then he turned and walked briskly back to the market.

"Who is that polite old gentleman who carried my turkey for me?" he asked the market man.

"That is John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States. He is one of the greatest men in our country," was the answer.

The young gentleman was surprised and ashamed. "Why did he offer to carry my turkey?" he asked.

"He wished to teach you a lesson," answered the market man. "He wished to teach you that no man should feel himself too fine to carry his own packages."

"Oh, no!" said another man who had seen and heard it all. "Judge Marshall carried the turkey simply because he wished to be kind and obliging. That is his way.2

2000 years ago, Jesus, the Son of God, looked at our pride and selfish ways and paid for our sin. The King of all kings carried our cross all the way to Calvary. His ultimate sacrifice showed His mercy and grace. He owed us nothing and yet suffered shame and humiliation because That is His Way! Thank you, Lord Jesus!

Suggested Prayer: Dear Heavenly Father, Lord of all lords, you humbled yourself for me because that is your way. You died on a cruel cross because you love me. My actions, words, or deeds can never repay your great sacrifice. But I offer you my heart, filled with gratitude, asking you to make me more like you. Thank you! In Jesus' name, Amen.

Isaiah 55:8-9 (NIV).

"Why He Carried the Turkey", by James Baldwin, 1912.

Today's Encounter was written by: Veronica B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

Daily Encounter is published at no charge by ACTS International, a non-profit organization, and made possible through the donations of interested friends. Donations can be sent at: http://www.actscom.com

ACTS International P.O. Box 73545 San Clemente, California 92673-0119 U.S.A.

Phone: 949-940-9050 http://www.actsweb.org

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noeticprayer · 1 year

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September 12, 2021

Martyr Julian of Galatia and 40 others (4th); Hieromartyr Autonomos the bishop in Italy (313); Dositheus, metropolitan of Tbilisi; Hieromartyr Coronatus, bishop of Nicomedia (3rd); Martyr Theodore of Alexandria; Venerable Bassian of Tikhsnen, Vologda (1624); Venerable Athansius of Serpukhov and his disciple Athanasius

12th Sunday after Pentecost; Leavetaking Nativity Theotokos; Sunday before Elevation

Gal 6.11-18 (Epistle—Sunday before Elevation)

Brethren, see with what large letters I have written to you with my own hand! As many as desire to make a good showing in the flesh, these would compel you to be circumcised, only that they may not suffer persecution for the cross of Christ. For not even those who are circumcised keep the law, but they desire to have you circumcised that they may boast in your flesh. But God forbid that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision avails anything, but a new creation. And as many as walk according to this rule, peace and mercy be upon them, and upon the Israel of God. From now on let no one trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus. Brethren, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen.

1 Cor 15.1-11 (Epistle)

Brethren, I declare to you the gospel which I preached to you, which also you received and in which you stand, by which also you are saved, if you hold fast that word which I preached to you – unless you believed in vain. For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures, and that He was seen by Cephas, then by the twelve. After that He was seen by over five hundred brethren at once, of whom the greater part remain to the present, but some have fallen asleep. After that He was seen by James, then by all the apostles. Then last of all He was seen by me also, as by one born out of due time. For I am the least of the apostles, who am not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain; but I labored more abundantly than they all, yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me. Therefore, whether it was I or they, so we preach and so you believed.

Phil 2.5-11 (Epistle—Theotokos)

Brethren, let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross. Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

John 3.13-17 (Gospel—Sunday before Elevation)

The Lord said: No one has ascended to heaven but He who came down from heaven, that is, the Son of Man who is in heaven. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.

Matt 19.16-26 (Gospel)

At that time, a young man came and said to Jesus, “Good Teacher, what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life?” So He said to him, “Why do you call Me good? No one is good but One, that is, God. But if you want to enter into life, keep the commandments.” He said to Him, “Which ones?” Jesus said, “’You shall not murder,’ ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ ‘You shall not steal,’ ‘You shall not bear false witness,’ ’Honor your father and your mother,’ and, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ “ The young man said to Him, “All these things I have kept from my youth. What do I still lack?” Jesus said to him, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. Then Jesus said to His disciples, “Assuredly, I say to you that it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. And again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. When His disciples heard it, they were greatly astonished, saying, “Who then can be saved?” But Jesus looked at them and said to them, “With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Luke 10.38-42, 11.27-28 (Gospel—Theotokos)

At that time, Jesus entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus’ feet and heard His word. But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” And Jesus answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her. . . . And it happened, as He spoke these things, that a certain woman from the crowd raised her voice and said to Him, “Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!” But He said, “More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!”

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seekfirst-community · 2 years

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Meditation:

Do you ever feel "put-off" or ignored by the Lord?

This passage (Matthew 15:21) describes the only occasion in which Jesus ministered outside of Jewish territory. (Tyre and Sidon were fifty miles north of Israel and still exist today in modern Lebanon.) A Gentile woman, a foreigner who was not a member of the Jewish people, puts Jesus on the spot by pleading for his help. At first Jesus seemed to pay no attention to her, and this made his disciples feel embarrassed. Jesus does this to test the woman to awaken faith in her.

Jesus first tests the woman's faith

What did Jesus mean by the expression "throwing bread to the dogs"? The Jews often spoke of the Gentiles with arrogance and insolence as "unclean dogs" since the Gentiles did not follow God's law and were excluded from God's covenant and favor with the people of Israel. For the Greeks the "dog" was a symbol of dishonor and was used to describe a shameless and audacious woman. There is another reference to "dogs" in Matthew's Gospel where Jesus says to his disciples, "Do not give to dogs what is holy" (Matthew 7:6). Jesus tests this woman's faith to see if she is earnest in receiving holy things from the hand of a holy God. Jesus, no doubt, spoke with a smile rather than with an insult because this woman immediately responds with wit and faith - "even the dogs eat the crumbs".

Seek the Lord Jesus with expectant faith

Jesus praises a Gentile woman for her faith and for her love. She made the misery of her child her own and she was willing to suffer rebuff in order to obtain healing for her loved one. She also had indomitable persistence. Her faith grew in contact with the person of Jesus. She began with a request and she ended on her knees in worshipful prayer to the living God. No one who ever sought Jesus with earnest faith - whether Jew or Gentile - was refused his help. Do you seek the Lord Jesus with expectant faith?

"Lord Jesus, your love and mercy knows no bounds. May I trust you always and pursue you with indomitable persistence as this woman did. Increase my faith in your saving power and deliver me from all evil and harm."

with abandon

“Carrying your festive tambourines, you shall go forth dancing with the merrymakers.” —Jeremiah 31:4

The joy of the Lord is our strength (Neh 8:10). The Lord tells us to “praise His name in the festive dance” and to “sing praise to Him with timbrel and harp” (Ps 149:3). “Then the virgins shall make merry and dance, and young men and old as well” (Jer 31:13). So, this applies to all God’s people, not only the young.

As we dance and make a joyful noise to the Lord (Ps 100:2), we are to “shout with joy” and proclaim His praise (Jer 31:7, 12). Shouting, singing, dancing, and clapping are human ways of expressing praise. If we can do these things for athletes, politicians, and celebrities, how much more worthy is our God of such acclaim!

Consider what the Lord has done for us. He died to save us from sin, slavery, death, damnation, and Satan (see Mt 15:22). He rose from the dead and poured out the Spirit. He is with us always (Mt 28:20). He will never forsake us. “With age-old love,” He has loved us (Jer 31:3). He constantly forgives, heals, feeds, and frees those who call on Him. He alone is worthy to be praised (Rv 5:12), praised in every way, with all our strength, praised forever.

Prayer: Father, send the Spirit of praise so that I may worship You with abandon as David did (2 Sm 6:14).

Promise: “Jesus then said in reply, ‘Woman, you have great faith! Your wish will come to pass.’ That very moment her daughter got better.” —Mt 15:28

Praise: After months without Mass because of the Covid pandemic, Dominic worships now with renewed fervor at Mass.

Reference: (Single adults, you are invited to a retreat that will focus on your vocation Aug. 19-21. Join other Catholics striving to serve the Lord and be refreshed and renewed at this retreat. Call 513-373-2397 or e-mail [email protected].)

Rescript: "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for the publication One Bread, One Body covering the time period from August 1, 2022 through September 30, 2022. Reverend Steve J. Angi, Chancellor, Vicar General, Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio January 31, 2022"

The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

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thoughts-ive-had2 · 2 years

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I saw this post today and I wanted to comment on it:

A loving God

1. It baffles me how so many non-Christians will assume something about the Christian God while never taking the time to actually read the book they follow.

2. God is a loving God, who does not send people to hell, but saves them from it. Christ, who is God himself, took on the wrath and punishment of God the Father (separate person same being), went to hell himself (see the book Acts) and took power over it.

Jesus suffered, and died, on a cruel cross, and took on the sin of the world for you and me. After he was spat on, and rejected by those who he loved, he still died for them. His own people the Israelites rejected him. He done everything he could possibly do to win the hearts of those he loved.

After that he extended the promise to the Gentiles (like me) and saved me. To the Jew first and then to the Greek.

3. God has not punished us any more than he punished his own son. What makes you think you’re any better?

4. Lastly, God, as the author of truth, has every right to do as he chooses. Yes, God is love, but he is also judge. But he’s a righteous judge.

I would want to get on his side of the battle, because you, Satan, and the demons in hell don’t stand a chance against my mighty savior and Lord Jesus Christ. Unlike the demons and Satan you can still choose to follow Christ. He loves you, that’s why he died for you.

Hear this: God doesn’t send anyone to hell. Everyone is on the same boat on their way straight to hell. The only difference is some of us heard the cry of Christ and chose instead to board that great gospel ship. Christians don’t deserve it anymore than the sinner does. It’s only by Christ’s sacrifice that we can go to heaven. What do you choose? Heaven or hell?

John 3:16-17- “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, and whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world [to hell]; but that the world through him might be saved.”

All that being said, God loves you, I love you, and he will forgive you if you ask. 🤍

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

I Long to Be

Pairing: Mr Freezy x hit woman!reader (kitten), Officer Bill x hit woman!reader (PG only for now)

Words: ~2.1k

Summary: Your new dynamic has Bobby ready to explode.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, over the pants hand job, dry humping, mentions of oral and penetrative sex), emotional manipulation, reader is a massive bitch, slightly subby Bobby (what?!?!), cheating adjacent, domestic violence as foreplay, inappropriate behavior at a funeral, gossipy neighbors, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: This is mostly just setting the stage for the next arc I’m gonna do with our murderers but whoo boy are you sluts in for a treat! Sorry for inflicting the stache on you, but I’m just gonna lean into it.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!!

You moaned softly when Bobby pulled you back against his chest, the hand that wasn’t digging into your tit buried knuckle deep in your cunt from behind as he stroked your walls slowly.

“No marks.” You ordered when you felt his teeth scrape over your pulse, ignoring the snarl he shot you through the mirror before settling for licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. “Don’t fucking pout at me, pretty sure even those dumb fucks out there would notice if I walked out there with a hickey. Control yourself.”

“You need to quit being a fucking bitch.” He growled when you squeezed his cock before starting to stroke it through his slacks again. “It’s been five days, if I don’t feel that warm snatch wrapped around me soon, I’m gonna fucking kill someone.”

“Then you’ll just have to wait even longer, Bobby. I told you, we’re gonna drill some fucking self control into you.” You rolled your hips into his hand when his palm ground into your clit, dropping your head back against his shoulder and purring when you felt his cock throbbing under your palm. “Plus, I’m still pissed at you for the unbelievable pile of bull shit I had to dig you out of.”

“But… fuck, kitten.” He buried his face in your hair to cover his groan when you squeezed him again, bucking his hips into your grip and tugging softly at your nipple as you brought him towards his peak. “I fucking need it. You can just suck on the tip a little, just tide me over, I’m fucking dying.”

“You’re fucking dramatic, I’m still letting you come, so quit being a bitch.” You felt warmth bloom under your hand and smirked at him, your pussy sucking on his fingers as he started fucking them into you harder until you came with a broken sob.

“You goddamn cunt.” He looked furious when you pulled away from him, growling when you wrenched out of his grip to straighten your dress out. “I swear to god, you keep fucking holding out on me and I’m gonna split you in half in front of those cunts until you’re bleeding and begging me to stop.”

“No you’re not.” You shoved your tits back into your dress and did up the buttons. “You’re gonna play the grieving husband and father for as long as I tell you, and once I feel like the fucking heat has died down enough, maybe then you can get your dick wet. But until that happens, you’ll just have to settle for hands and dry humping. Now shut up and try to look wrecked.”

He didn’t have to try, he was wrecked. Dealing with your constant teasing without being able to actually fuck you had him feeling like his nerves were frayed to the limit, and topping that off with having to play the tormented widower was testing the self control you were adamant he exercise. There hadn’t even been any jobs for him to redirect his pent up rage, so he was stuck settling for furiously jerking himself every night as he longed for your perfect, warm cunt.

You gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before opening the door and heading back out to the wake, not bothering to fix your face as it fit the narrative that Bobby had been comforting you while you cried yourself out. With how haggard he was, your stupid cunt neighbors had no problem accepting when you told them that you and Bobby had been supporting each other through this tough time.

Bobby’s jaw was clenched tight as he stood at the edge of his living room, barely paying attention to the twats who kept coming up to him to tell him how sorry they were for his loss while he watched you act like the perfect grieving friend. You shot him a glare when he tried to move closer to you, hiding your smirk behind your drink and leaning against the wall when he accepted another unwanted embrace like a good little widower.

“Hi, Suzy?” You had to act quick to school your face when you turned and found the fucking cop who had flirted with you at the damn crime scene standing there, you had not expected to see him again.

“Officer Bill!” You caught Bobby start out of the corner of your eye, shooting him a glance to settle him before turning back to your surprising visitor. “Robert’s just over there, did you need to talk to him about something? I thought everything was closed.”

“It is, and please just call me Bill.” He gave you a nervous smile and stepped a little closer to you, fidgeting with his hands as he struggled with what to say to you. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I know these things tend to put all the focus on the family but I wanted to make sure you were ok? Since she was your best friend, I’m sure things are hard.”

Oh shit. Your flirting had worked a little too well, this boy was sweet on you. It took some doing for you to fight the pleased smile that tried to spread across your face, especially when you caught Bobby glaring at you over the cop’s shoulder when the man reached and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s been so hard.” You gave a small sob and could have laughed when he drew you into his chest, burying your face in the warm planes of muscle as he did his best to comfort you. “I feel so alone now. I’d usually talk to Mary about this, but now I have no one. Maybe I could talk to Robert but he’s suffering so much worse than me, I don’t want to burden him any more.”

“God, you’re so sweet, honey.” You managed to disguise your snort as another sob, pressing your body close to his and trying not to grin when he settled his hands at the small of your back, “You can talk to me, Suzy.”

“Bill, you just met me.” This was working out great for you; a dumb cop who was already wrapped around your finger and a new way to piss off Bobby, what could be better? “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Baby, no, never.” He gave you a soft smile when you lifted your head to meet his gaze, cupping your face in one massive palm and gently brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek in an effort to soothe you. “I just wanna help, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want, ok?”

“Okay.” You leaned into his cheek and sighed softly as you batted your eyelashes at him, it had been a while since you had played this game, but seems like you were still a fucking pro. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, darlin’.” You let him give your waist a squeeze before stepping back, your eyes finding Bobby’s and narrowing at the look of unbridled rage you found there until he was cowed. “There’s a little bakery near here if you wanna have some privacy.”

He nodded towards the gaggle of housewives that was watching you with interest while the rest of your neighbors started filtering home and you sighed, accepting his hand and letting him lead you towards the front door while you gave Bobby one more warning glance to keep him from doing something stupid. As soon as the door closed behind you the busybodies went crazy, whisper shouting at each other as they tried to keep some semblance of decorum while they packed up all the leftovers and helped Bobby clean up, or rather, did all the cleaning while Bobby started downing scorch like it was his job.

Thirty minutes later and he was finally alone, exhausted from all the unwanted hugs and sympathies he had to endure and wanting nothing more than to lose himself in you. But he couldn’t because you were still out with that fucking cop. He sulked in the chair at the front window, watching your house as he slowly drained the bottle of scotch and tried to keep himself from imagining what you might be doing with that fucker.

By the time the bastard’s car finally pulled up in front of your house an hour later, the bottle was empty, Bobby wallowing in a pool of self pity that he never would have admitted to and growling when he watched the officer help you out of the car and lead you to your front door with an arm around your waist. When he watched him give you a peck on the cheek he almost lost it, dropping the bottle and cursing when he heard it smash against the floor. At least you didn’t invite him inside, sending him on his way with a little wave before strolling into your house without a second glance.

Bobby waited a few minutes after the cocksucker pulled away before storming over to your place, barely keeping himself together until he was able to knock on your front door.

“Hey there, Bobby.” You gave him a wicked grin when you opened the door, stepping aside and letting him in.

“The fucking cop?” He was itching to slap you, or maybe choke you, he was absolutely furious.

“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.” You shoved him a little and snorted when he stumbled slightly. “Drunk again. What the fuck am I gonna do with you?”

“Fuck me.” He was so drunk he didn’t even care anymore, grabbing you by the back of your neck and dragging your face to his until his lips were devouring yours.

“Jesus, did I fucking break you, Bobby?” You chuckled when he growled in response and shoved you against the wall, grinding his hardened cock into your hip as he tried to wrap his hands around your throat. “No fucking marks! God, still haven’t learned, have you?”

Your slap sent him reeling, the only thing that kept him upright being your tight grip on his collar as you watched him with mock concern. He tried to snarl at you when you gripped his jaw in one hand, shaking his head with a demeaning tut before leaning forward to bite at his lips.

“You need to dump that fucking cop, kitten.” He purred into your mouth when you wound one leg around his hip and dragged him into you, letting him rock against you slowly with a low moan as his dick twitched in his pants.

“And you still need to fucking control yourself, instead of charging over to your single neighbor’s house like a bat out of hell right after your wife’s funeral when you know every fucking busybody in the neighborhood is gonna be watching us like a bunch of hawks.” You let him lift your other leg to wrap around him, pressing you into the wall and moaning into your neck as he ground right against your clit. “I’ll make you a deal Bobby; you manage to keep that temper of yours reined in and the neighbors off our backs for a whole month while I make that sweet, dumb cop fall in love with me, and I’ll let you do whatever he does to me, so you don’t combust.”

“You’re such a bitch.” His breath against your neck was desperate, the rhythm of his hips writhing against you growing frantic as you both neared your ends. “You let him fuck you and I don’t care, kitten, I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Aww, don’t worry baby, it’ll just be the tip.” You laughed when he snarled into your throat, forcing himself to pull back before he sank his teeth into you so you didn’t decide to torture him even more. “Look at you being so good, and I didn’t even mention your reward.”

“What is it?” Christ, you were just whipping men left and right today.

“Once I get that moron to give me his whole heart, I’ll let you help me break it.” He hit you at the perfect angle and you shuddered with bliss, your release soaking the front of his slacks as his own filled his briefs. “But in a way that keeps him wrapped around my little finger so we can use him if we need to.”

“Ugh, fuck. Fine.” He sighed defeatedly into your neck. “But if I haven’t had my dick sucked once by this time in two weeks, I’m getting a fucking toy.”

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

What do you think the Cullens would do if some person they were talking to, out of nowhere just quite literally exploded in front of, and on them? Kinda like in that movie Spontaneous. Would they lose control and slurp up the mess on the ground, (and themselves) or would their bloodlust be curtailed by shock of wtf just happened?

I'd say something witty about how this is a strange anon to receive, but holy jesus you've sent me down a rabbithole.

Here's a trailer to the movie Spontaneous. It looks amazing. Kevin Feige wishes this had been his plot for Infinity War.

Here's a trailer for the movie Spontaneous Combustion, which I found by accident while searching for your fic. This looks amazing too. Can't believe Marvel didn't buy the rights to this guy.

I'm serious, people, you definitely want to watch these trailers. I just about died laughing.

So, on to your ask.

In the spirit of your ask, which implies a level of randomness, I thought the people blowing up should be random too. So, being in the mood to procrastinate through spending way too much time on tumblr things, I wrote a program that'll generate for me random Twilight characters.

Unsure whether the explosion should kill vampires or not, I generated an answer. The answer is yes, any generated vampire dies.

Without further ado:

Alice watches Vladimir blow up.

Alright, alright.

The first question to be answered here is why Alice is in Vladimir's presence in the first time. In canon they only meet once, at the end of Breaking Dawn.

For the sake of simplicity, we'll have Vladimir blow up then.

The Cullens and the witnesses are all celebrating being alive, when Vladimir suddenly explodes.

For the sake of the ask, Alice is sitting closest to him when this happens and making conversation.

Her first thought is utter shock. Not just that he blew up, but that she didn't see it coming (she wouldn't, because I randomly generated him. No decision was made). Her second thought is horror.

The Cullens just confronted the Volturi, now mere hours afterwards their allies are blowing up.

Holy fuck, Aro has a gifted ace up his sleeve, and he's using it to kill them remotely.

Panic ensues, not just for Alice, but among all the witnesses. Some of them refuse to leave, Bella has to shield those 24/7, though given the belief that her gift is psychic that doesn't make them feel very safe.

The others decide to go after the Volturi and beg for mercy, assuring them they never meant to challenge them.

Aro, of course, is very confused, but agrees. Why, yes, he does have a vampire who blows people up. Yes, yes he does.

Bella watches Aro blow up.

Oh I'm dying laughing at this one. And wishing I'd put this down for Carlisle, that would be even funnier, but alright.

Bella is walking about post-Breaking Dawn, minding her own business, when suddenly Aro appears in front of her. He looks around himself, utterly surprised by his sudden deplacement, and then blows up.

Bella has been living in terror of this man for years.

In Volterra he had his servant torture her and Edward and then made ominious threats, then a few months later the Eclipse disaster unfolded, finally we have Breaking Dawn where he showed up to murder her and everyone she loved.

Her shield may be powerful, but for as long as Aro was alive her family was never truly safe.

His untimely implosion changes all of that.

I imagine after a long moment of incredulity, Bella burns the rubble, just to be sure, then tells her family the joyous news.

Carlisle gives the guy a funeral. It's weird.

Carlisle watches Vassilii blow up.

Close call, due to my not switching out the names we almost had Angela. In which case Carlisle have stood there, covered in blood and in shock for several long seconds, before bringing out the bleach and gasoline for a crime scene clean.

As it is, Carlisle is minding his own business when suddenly an immortal child dressed like a medieval Eastern European appears before him. It says something in a foreign language that might mean "hi", he doesn't know but he says "hi" to it back, then the child blows up.

Carlisle stares at the rubble for a very long time, wondering if he is perhaps losing his mind. If, perhaps, Aro was right about animal blood being a slow suicide, and Carlisle has finally hit the limit for how long a vampire can go on without human blood.

He burns the rubble and prays for the child's soul, as an immortal child is doomed anyway, and keeps his silence about what happened. In part because there's a solid chance this was all in his imagination.

If Aro ever touches his hand again, and sees the immortal child that he burned a thousand years earlier resurrect, travel through time, all in order to blow up in front of Carlisle, he... well there comes a point where you say "nothing to see here" and refuse eye contact with the universe glitching.

Edward watches Randall blow up.

Randall, for the ignorants, is one of Carlisle's friends that came to witness for the Cullens in Breaking Dawn.

Suddenly he appears in front of Edward, says hi and how do you do, and then he blows up.

Edward tells Carlisle, who is saddened by this, and they try to piece the guy together. They fail.

Edward sends a somber thought to this noble man who agreed with Edward that the Cullens are awesome enough to be worth dying for.

Emmett watches Mary blow up.

Emmett will never admit it, but it's the coolest, raddest thing he's ever seen.

Esme watches Eleazar blow up.

Oh boy.

The Cullens are visiting the Denali. Irina has not been dead for long, but given the crystal clear memory of vampires, and the loss they already suffered (Sasha's death traumatized them) it doesn't really matter how long it's been, the Denali are devastated anyway.

The whole coven is as fragile as it can possibly get.

Then, Eleazar goes to join Esme in the kitchen, and explodes all over her and the kitchen.

The remaining Denali and the Cullens are called to the kitchen by the sound of Esme's screaming, and find her in hysterics, surrounded by gray rubble.

The Denali are near catatonic with grief at this point, while cooking has been ruined for Esme. One moment you're making food, the next people are exploding all over your kitchen.

Yeah.

Esme is not okay.

Jasper watches Nahuel blow up.

It's a shameful moment in his life.

But, hybrids are edible.

And that blood was splattered all over him.

Jasper has the worst control fail of his life, worse even than when he failed with Bella because this fail means he can't be around Renesmée anymore.

It's miserable all around.

The one highlight here is that it didn't happen when they were headed to the Volturi trial together.

Rosalie watches Emmett blow up.

Jesus christ, random Twilight character generator, just when I thought you were just going to give me boring results.

Not only does Rosalie lose the love of her life, the guy who kept her together, the one good thing she had going for her who made her life worth living, but he did so right in front of her, blowing up out of nowhere.

There's no explanation to be had, no culprit to be found, no reason for it. She had no goodbye, just as she can have no revenge.

She will never have closure.

Renesmée watches Renée blow up.

We go out on a high note, my god. Well done, generator, I'm laughing.

Renesmée is curious enough about her grandmother to go to Florida. She was going to watch from afar, but finds herself talking to the woman who raised her mother.

It's all going well until Renée suddenly explodes all over Renesmée.

Renesmée's first thought is nothing, she's in shock.

Then...

Well, she was controlled as an infant, so I don't think an adult Renesmée would lose it unless under extreme circumstances, like if she encountered a singer.

More, though, Renesmée might have any reasons of her own not to drink human blood, but she has been raised with this being a big no-no.

So she shouldn't.

However...

Is she ever going to get a better chance?

Ethically, she could easily argue this is the right choice. No one will be negatively affected by this, at least not directly.

The human is right there, already dead, and there's no body so while Renesmée does have to clean up the gore. Hell, if she laps up the blood on her clothes and the ground she will be cleaning up. Why waste perfectly good blood?

If Renesmée Cullen is ever going to have human blood, this is it.

It will come down to how much she respects her grandfather, and how important she believes Renée was to Bella.

Bonus, because I'm having way too much fun with this:

Bree watches Atheonodora blow up.

Bree is minding her own business when suddenly a vampire unlike any she has ever seen before, one with hazy eyes and odd skin, appears before her. They stare at each other. Then the woman blows up.

Bree takes this to mean that exploding is apparently something vampires just do sometimes, runs off in a panic and, sobbing, tells Riley.

Riley, having no idea what to make of any of this, tells her it was those evil yellow-eyes with their witchcraft and sorcery.

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serosinkyslut · 3 years

Text

“I need you”

Sero x fem!Black reader

Warnings: mentions of drugs, smut, p r a i s e, slight bruising, some overstim w/ nipple play, panic attack, angst, choking, and squirting

Summary: You’re about to tell Sero a thing or two after getting a call from him at 3am. But his response leads to a different discussion…

Word count: about 2.7k

Author’s note: Quick question/// how did we all come to an agreement that Sero smokes?? Is this canon? Could it be canon?

Authors note pt. 2: I didn’t think the angst would be so long, so just skip to the {***}asterisks if you just wanna read the smut

The Sero you know has always been calm, cool, and collected. When you receive a phone call at 3am, you assume it’s one of his usual antics; him asking you if you’ve heard Megan’s new song, explaining why Denki is such a dumbass, or his take on the Netflix show you told him to watch. The bright light of your phone stings your eyes before you hear the ringtone. Taki Taki by Selena Gomez blasts from your nightstand- a song Sero knew annoyed the crap out of you, and hence forced you to set it as his ringtone after a bet you lost months ago. Hearing it so many times now, after all, Sero was your best friend and boyfriend, the tune wasn’t as bad. As you reach over to answer it, silencing the dumb song, you’re semi-pissed off and ready to tell Sero that whatever he has to say can definitely wait til morning. You were exhausted and had just seen Sero only a few hours ago. However, when you answer the phone, the soft but audible sniffle instantly shuts you up.

There’s a shaky breath before “y/n...I....” he pauses, trying to regain control of his broken voice. Your heart squeezes terribly as he tried to force himself to talk. What had happened? You were just laughing together not too long ago.

“Sero? What’s wrong? Are you okay??”

You hear him struggling to tell you what’s going on with him, but only a strangled cry comes out as he bursts into tears. You’ve never heard Sero this broken, this distraught. Hell, you’ve hardly ever seen him have a semi bad day. Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. It hurts you to know that your bestfriend is in so much pain.

“I need you,” he manages to get out through gasps.

“I’m on my way right now,” you tell him in a smooth, stable voice. You’re scared that it’ll only freak him out even more if he knew how panicked you were. In a total frenzy, you throw on a big shirt and grab your car keys on the way out, not even thinking about your bonnet still on your head, your raggedy house slippers on your feet, or even the fact that you're dashing out your apartment at 3am with no pants on. You can only think about Sero, and how bad he must be feeling to call you in absolute tears. You don’t bother with a seatbelt, and hardly look out for other cars as you zoom to his apartment. A trip that should have taken 20 minutes didn’t even take 10 as you park in the spot Sero was convinced was just for you. A space directly in front of his apartment that was always vacant, and also so happened to be right next to his car. Your feet fly you to the second floor and you fumble searching for the red cheetah printed key to his apartment that he copied for you. He thought it was hilarious how tacky it was, and even customized his own key so that you guys could match. That was Sero for you- always thinking of you. Always going the extra mile to see you happy. And now that precious boy was suffering, crying alone in his apartment. “Wait...is he even in his apartment?” You slam your palm to your forehead. You didn’t even bother asking where he was before rushing over. Fuck. Sending a silent prayer, you flip out the red key and open the door.

As soon as you do, a gush of smoke exits, flooding your nostrils with the smell of weed. You can hardly see into the space, trying to make it safely to Sero’s room where you figure he must be, smoking in his little alcove by the window with the air diffuser on. Instead, you hear his sniffling from the living room, almost blocked out by the tv which, ironically, is in fact playing the Netflix show that you recommended to him last week. Dragging your eyes from the flashing tv, you focus your attention to the shaking lump of covers on the sofa. Taking deep breaths, you walk towards him.

“Sero?” you whisper quietly and he freezes. He doesn’t respond, but you know he heard you. “Sero... I’m here”. You take a few more wary steps before you place your hand on the blanket he’s hiding under and peel it always carefully, revealing the top of his head. You bend down to get a look at his face, but when you try, he only lowers his head even more. You smooth his hair down with one hand, and place the other ever so gently under his chin, trying to get him to look at you. “Look at me, Sero. Please? Tell me what’s wrong”. Sero, being one to never deny you anything you ask for, tilts his head up gingerly. His eyes are totally bloodshot, and you can’t tell if it’s from the weed, the crying, or both. But either way, it breaks you I’m so many different ways. Sero opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You slip into the thick covers with him and press him to your chest, wrapping your arms around his head. Almost instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into you while gripping you tightly like his life depends on it. You keep smoothing down his hair, whispering a mix of “everything’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe,” while peckering kisses on his head. It takes a few minutes to calm down from his.. panic attack? Jesus, you want to know what’s wrong so you can fix it. Once he’s stable, he finally looks up at you with those big beautiful eyes and kisses your chin. Then your jaw, neck, collar bones, and finally stopping at the gap between your breasts. He sighs in to you, face between your breasts, and reluctantly releases his grip around your waist. All of a sudden, everything spills out at once. He rambles on about how 5 civilians had died right in front of him two months ago. 3 of them being children. How he could’ve saved them if he had been a better hero. How he was having nightmares about them, and about you. It could have been you that day. Would he be able to save you then? Would you resent him for being so weak? He’d been getting high almost every night to ease his anxiety, but he finally cracked when the Netflix show you gave him had a child die in the last scene of the 2nd season. That was the trigger for his first panic attack. When he called you, he was right in the middle of it, and couldn’t think of someone better to contact. And his gut was right. Just you holding him in your arms made the bad thoughts go away. You were better than the weed, better than all the numerous distractions he had to make him think about everything but the accident. He felt safe. He felt loved. He never knew that was what he needed most. Now that he was calm in your arms, he wanted to reciprocate all the love you always showered him.

*** [here’s the smut you whores]

He began pressing sloppy, wet kisses against the base of your neck, sucking so hard on the skin that you knew for a fact it would leave a bruise or two. “I love you y/n. You’re so good to me,” he breathes before licking long stripes along your collarbone. “I love you so much”. Dammit this man was high as hell. You felt some guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach at Sero’s advances. Should you be enjoying this as much as you are right now? Your best friend just had a panic attack. Yet, the feeling was quickly replaced by a pleasurable heat as he firmly grabbed your ass with one hand and pressed his boner against your cunt, pushing almost painfully hard through your thin T-shirt. It wasn’t until that moment you remembered all you had on was this shirt and underwear.

With his other hand, he removes your bonnet and threads his hands in your curls, getting tangled easily while he lightly scraped your scalp, right at the crown. Right where you liked it. You let out a soft moan that was met with a slight throb of Sero’s cock. “You’re fucking perfect, Princesa. Your hair and skin feel so perfect. So perfect for Papi”. He bites down on your collar bone, receiving a sharp yelp in surprise and a tug at his hair. “ohhh hermosa you feel so good,” he groans, his Spanish beginning to flow as you both get even more turned on. “All I need is you, y/n,” he says. Carefully, he takes his hand out of your kinks and places one on your hip, rubbing small circles with his nails. He stops for a moment in this position. He murmurs, almost to himself, “You’re all I need, mi cielito. After all the bullshit I put you through, I don’t deserve you,” he starts to choke a bit on his words at the end, and you sense the tears coming. You love Sero, and in no way did he not deserve you. He needed to know that. Pulling his lips away from you, which are now swollen, you stare into his eyes and tell him “I love you, and only you Sero. I don’t want or need anyone else”. A quick tear escapes from his eye and it slides right into the crook of your arm. You wipe it away with the palm of your hand, keeping it pressed on his cheek. “I mean it, Sero”. A slow, lopsided smile presents itself on his face. “That was pretty cheesy y/n. I never pegged you for the sentimental type”. You mirror his smile, your heart soars at the inkling of normalcy between you two. “Oh fuck off,” you say playfully pushing his head away. “We both know that I’m a huge romantic. Besides,” dropping your voice and gently pressing your lips against his ear, “no one else could get me this wet in a few minutes. Sero giggled at you, yes giggled, and shook his head.

“Horny ass. Let me have this damn opportunity to be lovey-dovey” Sero’s fake agitation is so forced you couldn’t help but outrightly laugh. After the moment passes though, you suddenly become serious. “Are you sure about this Sero?”

“I’m always sure when it comes to you hermosa”

This time, he places a slow, deep kiss to your mouth, swiping a hot tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. As usual, you give it to him without a second thought.

Sex with Sero is always passionate, but today felt extremely intense. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t turn you on. Plus, there was so much smoke in the apartment that you had to be getting a second hand high right now.

Sitting up and dragging you with him, covers sliding to the floor, he positions you two at the edge of the couch, your back facing a blaring tv that neither of you bother to turn off as you straddle him. One swift tug has your shirt off, revealing your pebbled nipples and a lacey red underwear you don’t even remember putting on.

A low whistle leaves Sero’s lips. “You couldn’t possibly have mistaken my phone call for a booty call, could you? ‘Cause this is sexy as fuck mami”

Wasting no more time, he wraps his mouth around one nipple, flicking the dexterous muscle back and forth. The other nipple pinched between his fingers while he pulls and squeezes harshly, the pain meshing deliciously with the pleasure. With his free hand, he wraps his lanky fingers around the back of your neck, encircling almost completely around your throat. Yanking your head back with just the right amount of force, you can’t help the loud, high pitched moan that leaves you. Your hips spasm along his thigh, leaving a visible line of slit on his pants. Sero hums against your skin, tightening his grip on you, “you like that, don’t you? Grinding your cunt on my thigh while my hands choke your pretty little neck”

You were going to respond, but his teeth bite down on your breast, the other one met by a thumb flicking across the bud quickly. Your hips buck against his leg, the pressure causing a flood of incoherent sounds. You’re a mess of moans, white pulsing at the edges of your vision, heat rocking through your entire body. And just when you think the pain starts to be too much, he presses his knee right against your clit, making you see stars. “Sero!!” Your screams and gasps are so noisy that you know the neighbors are sure of who’s making you feel this good. His mouth rips from your nipple with a pop, but instantly latches onto your lips.

He uses both of his hands to palm your ass, grinding your hips faster and harder, your clit exploding with pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut, you slam your arms down on him, clawing at his shoulders. The feeling was so fast, so intense, too good, you were being sent over the edge. Your words were incomprehensible, you could hardly even speak to tell him you were close, so so close.

“Fuck! Sero I-”

“Shit y/n you look so fucking hot,” he grunts against your lips, “Please cum, cum for papi. You’re so pretty on top of me y/n. Cum all over my pants with that pretty pussy of yours baby”. One hand smacks down across your tits, making you jump so hard you almost fall off his leg. He never stops gripping and kneading at them, rougher than ever, before twisting your nipples again. You claw at his shoulders, practically sobbing from the pleasure, screaming “yes yes yes! So good! So...!”

Another slap makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, your orgasm building in your core. He squishes your tits together, and plunges both nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking fervently. At the same time he bounces his knee, you feel the burning knot coming undone. “Papi, I’m gonna cum, I’m coming, I’m-”

You couldn’t say anymore, as a gush of hot liquid squirted all over his leg. Sero hums with your tits still in his mouth, the tiny vibrations sending bolts of electricity down your spine. You gradually came back down from your high (and not the weed high), Sero still rocking you slowly against his pant leg. When you come back to reality, your head falls forward, instantly tired and tense from that world-changing orgasm. After opening your eyes, you spot a wet circle right at the center of Sero’s legs. “Sero, did you just cum?”

He glances down, and his eyes widened when he also sees the sticky wetness seeping through. He looks back up at you, blessing you with his wide, toothy smile. “I guess I did, huh?”

Bitch is high as hell. You chuckle slightly before you hear a nearly inaudible squelch under you. Now you look between your own legs, and freeze at what you see.

Shit

“Did I… did I just?”

“Yeah,” Sero snorted, “You squirted on my thigh. I think it got on the couch too.”

Oh my god. You press your palms to your eyes immediately, totally embarrassed by what you did. Not to mention the fact that you were basically naked, while Sero was still fully clothed. How did this even happen? You’ve never squirted before. Did you have some sort of torture kink? Your tits hurt like hell right now. Turning your head away, you say “that’s so embarrassing”

“Embarrassing? Look at me” Sero takes you by the wrists and removes your hands from your face, but your eyes still look away. “Look at me baby,” he persists, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and index with his lanky fingers, forcing your eyes on his. His blissed out eyes are still glossed over with an incredible lustful stare. “That was fucking hot, y/n. Can you do it again? Please?”

#sero hanta #hanta sero x reader #fanfic #sero x black!reader #mha #mha smut #smut #hanta sero #class 1a #class 1 a x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero fic #bnha #bnha smut #black girls #anime

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 01

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: some profanity, a side character who is a dick about Reid, set in season 06, self beta’d

Word Count: 2437

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 01

March 2010

Dr. Spencer Reid

(Current Tenure: California Institute of Technology): Fred Kavli Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics; Director, Walter Burke Institute for Theoretical Physics, Department Head of Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy at Caltech.

- (Degrees, in order) Ph.D. Mathematics, Caltech, 1995; Ph.D. Chemistry, Caltech, 1997; M.A. Nuclear Science, MIT, 1999; Ph.D. Engineering, MIT, 2000; M.A. Sociology, Columbia University, 2001; M.A. Philosophy, Georgetown, 2001; Ph.D. Psychology, Georgetown, 2002; M.A. Applied Analytics, Columbia University, 2003; M.A. Socio Economic Statistics, MIT, 2004; M.A. Geology, Caltech, 2006; Ph.D. Geography, Caltech, 2006; M.A. Economics, Caltech, 2008; M.A. Brain and Cognitive Sciences, Caltech, 2009

- (Teaching positions, in order) Professor of Mathematics, Caltech, 1995-1997, Professor of Mathematics and Statistical Analysis, MIT, 1998-2005, Visiting Associate, Georgetown, 1999-2002; Professor of Chemical Engineering, MIT, 2002-05; Kavli Professor, Mathematics, Caltech, 2005-; Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics, 2006-; Deputy Chair, 2005-; Director, 2008-.

“Jesus.”

The dossier is just an information sheet; no photo ID, no news articles beyond text component pieces, but it is a thick stack of correspondence and case consultations that S.S.A Aaron Hotchner holds in his hands.

“Five Ph.D.’s and eight separate M.A.’s in fourteen years? What was he doing before that?”

“Who knows? You don’t earn a Ph.D. overnight, even if his accommodation sheet makes ‘em look like they pop up like mushrooms,” Mark Anderson says, audibly tired through the phone speaker on his desk. He was one of the Unit Chief's from the teams at the FBI L.A. field office, who’s phone number was given to him by an old friend, Sam Cooper -- another BAU team leader. Hotch had hit dead end after dead end on this case, and sitting at his desk in Quantico, Virginia, he looks down at the recommended consultant’s extensive list of degrees and teaching positions with a building headache behind his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fan of Anderson, or his briskness, but at this point he’d take anything he could get. “I’m pretty sure that man has never lived outside an academic field. He’s a handful, runs my agents up the damn wall, but he knows his stuff.”

“I hope so. I’ve been on the phone the past three days trying to find someone with a background in Obscure Cognitive Linguistics,” Hotch reads from a separate file, filled with violent images and depraved acts described in morbid detail. “Our unsub sites a very particular thesis about a Study of Language from a Cognitive and Developmental Law, and I keep getting sent to experts in adjacent fields. I don’t see anything in this Dr. Reid’s background about language.”

“Oh, trust me, Hotch -- you’ll get more than you bargained for. This is your guy. He’s basically an expert on everything, and if he doesn’t know anything about languages I’ll eat my tie. He never shuts up.”

Frowning at the speaker phone, Hotch keeps his comments to himself. He’s sure that Anderson probably doesn’t appreciate having an old professor puttering around the field office, but that didn’t mean he had to insult the man. Especially when he was there as a consultant.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. I’ll give him a call now-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. Just send him an email. Trust me.” Anderson all but groans like a petulant child. Graining on Hotch’s nerves excruciatingly.

“I’m sure he’s busy enough with his students, he doesn’t need to be fielding emails from the FBI,” Hotch hedged, still frowning.

“Not too busy to write you a dissertation in reply, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get the answers you need. You could be on the phone with him a half hour before you get to what you called about. Hopefully it won’t take you too long to sift through.”

Alright, now he is done listening to the other agent.

“Right. Thanks, Mark.”

“Anyti-” Hotch hangs up on him before the man could make any other remarks. His patience is non-existent after the past week and this extremely brutal case that only seems to compound exponentially in it’s viciousness with each passing day. If Anderson felt like being an asshole to some old man with nothing better to do than rack up Ph.D.’s, he could do it on his own time. Hotch needed help, and this man seemed to be the only person around who might be able to finally do so.

Dr. Reid’s office number is in front of him, as well as about three different lab location phone numbers, and one email address connected to the school faculty. He considers for a moment just ignoring Anderson’s advice and calling the old professor, but he has a meeting with his Department Chief, Strauss, in twenty minutes and the team would be arriving from canvasing the dumpsites soon.

So with a suffering sigh, Hotch pulls up a new email (for what feels like the millionth time for this case) and composes a standard correspondence introduction. Who he is, credentials, case numbers and specifics as far as clearance rates for civilians go, and then finally the questions he needs answered. There is something about this particular thesis that has to be very tongue in cheek to the unsub, saying something that isn’t really there, and this could just be another dead end -- but if it led to them saving a victim from becoming another dead body, he is willing to give it one last try.

Thank you for your time, S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Quantico, VA.

Then he hits send, and leaves the response up to the universe.

The team came up with nothing fruitful. Strauss proceeded to ream Hotch six ways from Sunday for wasting valuable bureau resources and coming up with zero results. His day was spinning down the drain in a hellish cyclone when he sits down behind his desk in his office an hour after leaving it. Case files still piled to one side, grotesque photos stacked within them, and Aaron Hotchner wants nothing more than for them to disappear. For the case to be solved and to be able to go home to his son and his quiet house. But there was no break in sight, no new information, nothing.

Except a new email in his inbox.

Agent Hotchner,

I know that thesis paper well. I can help you.

All air seems to have been sucked from the room as Hotch reads the words a couple of times, not quite comprehending after the morning he has had that someone wasn’t giving him more bad news. That this Dr. Reid said he could help him.

A single click of the email opens up the correspondence reply, and the agent is met with a giant wall of text. Scrolling down for pages, and a quick skim of the material shows such a complex, comprehensive amount of information that there is no way it’s just copy and pasted from any one source. Or even several. It’s a long email spanning a vast number of pages, covering every topic he had asked about (and then some).

The thesis paper, the tongue-in-cheek citation from the unsub, how this killer is acting like he’s being clever when it’s really ‘very obvious what he’s doing, as long as you know the paper’ and detailed links and quotations and references to locations and side tangents on items mentioned that could be evidence to look for or weapons of choice, and so much else Hotch’s head feels like it’s spinning. Like reading the cliffnotes of a complex spy novel, with all the spoilers in one place.

It takes him half an hour to read through everything Dr. Reid sent, meaning the professor had to have been typing a million words a minute from the moment Hotch had emailed him to get everything replied so quickly, and Hotch was baffled to realize that an old man with a handful of Ph.D.’s and no FBI training just solved his case.

Not a figment of speech.

Dr. Reid just solved the case, without even holding the file in his hands.

Hotch is dialing a phone number on his speed dial without even looking away from the screen.

“Garcia? Call the team into the briefing room, and phone SWAT to mobilize. We’re going down to the riverfront in thirty minutes.”

“--Wait, what are you talking about? Did you figure out the unsub’s code?”

Not me, Aaron thought to himself, standing up and printing Dr. Reid’s email after forwarding it to the entire team and their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. He didn’t have time to explain it that many times, and the amount of information in that single email would be enough to send any of them tumbling heels over head. But it solved every aspect of their case. Hook, line, and sinker.

And the clock was ticking.

“Now, Garcia.”

He rushes from the room with the stack of files in his hands and his laptop open to Dr. Reid’s email. Not even thinking to thank the man for his help as he heads across the bullpen with profound determination.

They have work to do.

They catch the unsub that very day.

Quick, efficient, completely by surprise. They saved Amanda Sutton and another girl they hadn’t even known was missing. No one died. None of his team was hurt. The unsub hadn’t confessed, but Rossi and Morgan had played him like a fiddle in interrogation and now all of his team members were walking to the elevators leaving for a long weekend where they wouldn’t have to worry about serial killers or another dead soul on their conscience. Today was a win. As close to a win as they ever can get, in their line of work.

And it isn’t until he’s back at his desk, the hours ticking into the night, that he opens up his email and there in his inbox is the very reply that started everything. Dr. Spencer Reid. CalTech Department Head. Professor of everything under the sun. Expert on anything, even the obscure.

The reason Hotch will get to spend the weekend with his son, without the overbearing aftershocks of a case gone so horribly bad plaguing him.

His hands are moving before he can stop them. Opening up the email, typing out a response to Dr. Reid thanking him for his help. Relaying what happened, detail by detail much in the same fashion he had completed the paperwork piled on his desk. Letting him know that his information really did end up helping them. All of it. Even the side tangents.

I don’t know how I can ever thank you for the extensive consideration you gave this case, or how to explain how it solved it so seamlessly, but your time and effort does not go unnoticed by me.

Okay, so maybe he fluffs it up a bit more than the dreadful bullet-point list descriptions required by the Deputy Chief and the Director and SWAT Team justification reports. Just so it doesn’t look so inadequate in comparison to the man’s thesis-paper-length email he sent to aide Hotch and his team. The passion he has for his work leaps off the page, but it was a lot -- and if the old man put that much dedication into a basic FBI correspondence email, then he was probably used to it being a thankless effort.

Hotch sends the reply, and continues with his work. He always takes a bulk of the paperwork, so his team can go home and rest and recharge. He needs them at their best for each case, and if that means he spends a couple hours longer after when they finish a case, it is worth every minute. But this time, once he finishes, he gets to take the coveted time off as well.

It’s as he’s finishing up, everything stacked neatly and ready to be dropped at records, in the mailroom, Strauss’s office, the director’s, and he’s about to log off his laptop that he sees a surprise -- Dr. Reid replied to him, again.

It’s much more brief this time.

Agent Hotchner,

I’m so glad I was able to help you.

You are one of the only agents to reach out and tell me how the case went after my consultation, and I’m very grateful to know that my information actually helped your team catch the killer. I know I tend to spout facts at random, but I do have methods to my madness and it’s such a nice change to correspond with someone who understands that.

My services are always at your disposal. Anytime. Whatever I can do to help.

Sincerely, Dr. Spencer Reid

Hotch types out a brief reply. Thanking him for his offer, for lending him his expertise, and letting him know in not so many words --

I’ll have to take you up on that.

He’d be a fool not to. Someone with that much knowledge and the ability to connect it all in the way Dr. Reid had in the span of an hour? He could be a real asset to the BAU, as a permanent consultant, even through email correspondence.

He sends the reply just as he stands to leave. Turning off his office light, and his chest feels lighter for the interaction. For giving the professor that sense of assurance that what he had to say did in fact do some real good. Hotch even finds himself smiling softly, sadly, that he has also found a little bit of solace in helping another lonely old man across the country find a sense of purpose that night. Who was working late, as well, despite it being the end of the week. Speaking to not much waiting for him back at home, in whatever shape ‘home’ takes for the man. But Hotch can relate to that, too. Jack is at Jessica’s until the morning, and there is nothing at his apartment to greet him but silence and bare walls and memories he’d rather not dote on. Maybe this Dr. Spencer Reid is in a similar boat, finding comfort in his work when he can. He certainly seems to, with the amount of time he’s poured into his doctorates and degrees. In the number of departments he runs and monitors.

Hotch can’t help but feel a connection, a companionship between empty offices. Thousands of miles apart, but maybe -- possibly -- at least similar in that aspect.

Not so alone, even if only for a brief moment.

(tbc...)

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls

#omg i forgot to do tags #Jesus so ive been so excited for this and here it finally is and i fuck it up .2 seconds in go me #this is a S L O W B U R N fic and we are starting all the way at the beginning and im so excited im kind of shaking #updates every saturday evening #message me if you want in on the tag list #also on ao3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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finaledenialist · 3 years

Note

Okay, your tags on The Empty Post have showed up in my notes and I have to ask. Tell me more. Tell me it all. All of the feelings and thoughts about that scene because what I’ve seen so far? Absolute perfection and I agree wholeheartedly.

Thank you! Okay I basically unloaded most of my thoughts in my tags here but let’s go through this one more time. I may add: this was already said a thousand times by better meta writers than me 3 years ago when season 13 was actually airing. And I will ramble a little about Purgatory, too. Now with that out of the way:

The Empty. Canonically it is a being, a living immortal being that rules the place or an ‘anti-place’ where angels and demons go are sent to when they die to dream of their regrets forever (this sounds awful and like a punishment for dying despite being immortal, for getting themselves killed or something). Also: the Empty was there before Creation, the Nothingness before Darkness and before Light.

Okay. But let’s see what other things the Empty represents: lack of anything. Complete nothingness that Cas got sucked into (by Lucifer but also by helping the Winchesters). Now we know that Cas‘I am afraid I might kill myself’tiel had his issues, right (I still can’t believe that we are praising 8x08 thee Hunteri Heroici for being a filler episode with Cas - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong - but we all keep forgetting what he actually did say to Dean there!!! Dean says: are you afraid the angels will kill you if you show up in Heaven? And Cas looks straight into his eyes and says: After all I’ve done, when I see Heaven, I am afraid I might kill myself).

Please remember that it’s not only Dean, Mr. ‘Purgatory was pure’. Cas, after all he did in season 6, after his death in s7, after coming back and being literally haunted by everything he’s done, must have felt that Purgatory was liberating, too. It was some kind of an Alternative Universe where he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He was free of them. It was literally his escape AND additionally it was (well, according to good old christian lore, maybe not specifically spn lore) a place where you are supposed to atone for your sins so there must have been the feeling of atoning, of making things right without actually doing anything specific, where having to survive and not get eaten by the Leviathans was his main problem (= surviving was just enough, nothing was asked of him), which, compared to all he’s done, wasn’t that hard or difficult. He found himself running away from Leviathans which could mirror running away from consequences of his actions - but it was Purgatory, it was at the same time atoning for what he did. It was EASY.

Cas basically confirms that he officially stayed in Purgatory because he didn’t think he deserved to go back to Earth and that is true but what he doesn’t say is: ‘Purgatory was pure and easy and kill or be killed and no other worries than that, no thinking, no real responsibilities which actually was a nice escape from the real world after all I did and been through in the past 3 years’. He wanted out, he wanted an easy choice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t actively looking for an easy way out but when it presented itself - when they appeared in Purgatory - he took it like a gift. We’re talking about a character who spent all his life following orders, who finally broke free and found himself completely lost in the freedom of choices, directionless and maybe wanted an escape. He must have felt overwhelmed but all this freedom (which he basically confirms in 6x20 freedom is a length of rope and god wants you to hang yourself with it). I COMPLETELY understand that choice to escape.

So in seasons 8-12 Cas has a lot of stuff going on in his head, he gets lobotomized for most of season 8, he is hurt and tortured and treated like shit for most of season 9 and 10 and he ultimately gives himself up to Lucifer in s11 and then he almost dies in 12x12 and he never really got to talk about all of this or work this things out with anyone because Sam or Dean are not really the most talkative guys and Dean in 10x09 basically tells Cas to ‘let it go and not think about it’ which is a shitty advice to someone who suffers from some mental issues if I am being honest (this is like. ur depressed? oh go for a run and smile and stop being sad!!! kind of advice if you ask me). So these issues only grow and grow and start eating him up and please remember that at the very same time Cas is falling in love. I said it previously but I think the moment he realizes what he really feels is 12x12 when he is dying. In that moment he is able to name this feeling but it’s of course covered by: ‘I love you. I love all of you’.

Now in season 12 he finally gets a proper arc with Kelly (god bless her, honestly, she and Cas had one of the most healthy relationships ever portrayed on tv and it wasn’t even romantic, I could go off about this but it’s getting really long anyway). So he kind of is on his way to find a purpose again - Dean is saved (from hell, from Michael, from the Mark), so he focuses on Kelly and unborn Jack and maybe in his relationship with her he rediscovers love (not necessarily romantic but he sees how she loves Jack) and he does all he can to protect her from basically everyone including the Winchesters. And he promises he will take care of Jack and then. Then he is killed by Lucifer (shattered at the altar of Winchester because he gets involved in the Apocalypse World because of them while having built something for himself with Kelly and Jack BUT still not having properly processed all his previous trauma).

Okay, so fast forward: Cas is woken up by Jack in the Empty. He is of course confused and stuff (we still don’t know what was he dreaming about all this time he spent there now that we know this is a place where angels and demons dream about their mistakes and regrets <- fanfiction gap #1). He wakes up, he is ‘greeted’ by the Empty and one of the first things he says is that he has to go back because Sam and Dean need him.

This is his first, automatic thought - I (probably) don’t want to go back, but Sam and Dean need me so I have to, I don’t want to go back for myself because I never wanted to since Purgatory but I know I have to. He doesn’t even think about Jack in this moment. I... maybe it is a stretch but I sense a kind of fear in these words. It’s like he thinks: ‘if I had the chance to come back and chose not to come back from selfish reasons then if the Winchesters ever find out about this they will be angry at me’. But I might be reading too much into this, but on the other hand Jesus fucking Christ this is precisely what happened in Purgatory. He chose to stay although he had a chance to return and the effect was Dean being mad at him. Talk about trauma--

Then the Empty (who was in Cas’ mind) voices his biggest fears:

'I know who you love, I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?'

There is a lot to unpack here because this is the Empty’s (who, as stated at the beginning can be read as a manifestation of not only death but also Cas’ depression and self-worth issues) reaction to Cas saying that Sam and Dean need him. She says: uh oh you’re wrong<3 I know who you love, what you fear, the is nothing there for you, sweetie. Essentially: they don’t need you. No one needs you or wants you there. They are better off without you. Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory (of actually being useful as in: saving Dean from hell, helping to stop the Apocalypse, helping to fight the Leviathans) than a disappointment (failing powers, makes mistake after a mistake, chooses to protect the unborn Antichrist rather than killing him before he’s born - and not to make this whole thing worse but this is what Dean has the audacity to say to Cas in 15x03: why if something goes wrong it always seem to be you).

I will now allow myself for some privacy, because I am a person who dealt with these kind of thoughts in my head for years, these are straight up suicidal thoughts: no one needs you, no one wants you, you are a disappointment and if you die you will be fondly remembered, everyone is better off without you. And we know Cas was suicidal because he literally tells us in 8x08 and we have no proof that he somehow got rid of these thoughts, ever. If anything, they were always there, present, if not growing. Thoughts like that don’t just disappear. Please remember one more time what was happening to Cas in seasons 8-11. He wasn’t healing. He was getting worse, while all this time managing to keep his head above water for someone else, while the guilt was rising and rising.

If the Empty represents all his issues: depression, suicidal thoughts, guilt, self-hate, lack of self-worth, and what she offers is: eternal sleep. Maybe not entirely peaceful sleep, but sleep nevertheless, no consequences, no facing your fears, no dealing with anything, an escape, sleep -

And she prompts him to stop fighting, to go back to sleep because there is nothing to fight for (now the symbolism of him being waken up by JACK who was his new found purpose just before he got killed), but she makes a mistake to confront his thoughts and fears with him. She makes a mistake of taking a ‘physical’ form, putting on his face and voice his fears. And Cas is a warrior and he kind of hates himself, so his instinct was to fight. Of course it was easier not to think about all of these stuff at all, to push it back, to try to forget. But once he was forced to face all of these? He fought back. AND HE WON!!!!!

WHAT A MESSAGE TO SEND RIGHT?!!! You might have all these issues and not want to face them because you feel you will crush under them but look: when you are forced to face them it turns out you are somehow way stronger than them!!! The moment you choose to fight you already won, you are already saved!!! Because ultimately these are your thoughts and this is your mind and you control it, no one else! The moment you decide, you choose, to take control: you win. You are saved because you chose to save yourself because you decided you are worth saving. And the Empty (and everything she represents) immediately gets angry and lets him go, ultimately annoyed because he dared to defy her and she just can’t win with someone who decides he wants to be free. WHAT. 👏🏻 A. 👏🏻 WONDERFUL. 👏🏻 MESSAGE. 👏🏻

So... Having said all that. There is only one thing left: I have NO IDEA. NO IDEA. HOW HE FOUND THE STRENGTH. TO STAND UP AND SAY THIS:

I'm already saved. You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.

A FUCKING ICON. STRONGEST CHARACTER EVER. YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER--

#ask #mutuals #cas #castiel meta #cas meta #the empty #long post #theselfhatingangelofthursday

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