#or wash your ears to become a prophet

[thoughtsafterdark]

Stigmata

The world is quiet. So quiet. The silence deafens, bends backs, breaks minds. It holds its breath, waiting, biding its time. Still and poised yet tense, every pebble and grain of sand prepared to strike. Like a big cat stalking its prey, shoulders rolling so smoothly as it inches closer and closer. Like oil sliding off the skin of the water. Those moments when it crouches and becomes one with the Savanah. When the golden light of the setting sun sets the land aflame and blades of grass blend with raised heckles until they are one and the same.

It waits for you, for your conception and birth. Molecules aligning, cells dividing, flowers blooming. The water of your mother’s womb is surprisingly thin given the precious life it cushions. It is expelled from your lungs like a sacrament, like a fountain that once erupted from a desert rock millennia ago. Strong lungs as befit a firstborn son. Your first cries pierce the air and shatter the stillness into a million shimmering fragments. The diamonds spill across the inky blackness. A burst of colour from the Lord’s brush, arcing across the sky. Another promise, another new beginning. Yet Gods are foolish, lonely creatures. Their promises ring hollow and false to our suffering ears. The whips crack and our skin splits, oozes all the same. Where was God when my brothers withered and died, the cries ripped from their throats going unanswered?

And yet tell me why as I gaze upon you now, I am compelled to fall to my knees? As if every fibre of my being yearns to bow, to yield - as if your voice bursts from somewhere deep in my squirming gut and heart and not your lips?

Tell me why I itch to bury myself in the crook where your thigh meets groin and inhale the musk there as if your scent holds the Eye of the Needle, as if the grooves of your skin map Heaven’s Kingdom. Would you let me cry tears of rapture at your coming and wash your feet with them and my tongue?

I wonder if such a wonton display of devotion would anger you, frighten you. Would you toss me away in disgust, smash my face into the ground? Break my nose against rock and let me feel the warm flood of blood flow backwards down my throat, let me savour the salt and iron as I swallow devoutly. Tell me why I have never felt so alive as when your holy wrath rains down upon me like fire, like the destruction of Sodom.

I watch you now, standing proud against that same setting sun, gazing across the expanse of your new kingdom. Here as it dips low upon the dunes and the sand lashes at us. Its rays frame raven curls and fracture all around you, as if afraid to touch you and be seduced. A halo that revers yet fears you. It hardens your features as if you were hewn from granite Your jaw tightens against the onslaught, sharp enough to fell armies. Your eyes become the harsh ringing of blade against blade. Gone is the boy with the easy smile tugging at the corner of a mouth, crow’s feet wrinkling eyes. In his place is the cold pyre of divine righteousness. The commander of earth and sky, made to wield sound and air itself. I think of the icons of old, the waxy mournful faces of saints and note what a pale imitation they must be, if they had even a third of your weight.

You are a black hole - all-consuming, inescapable, inevitable - and we are all trapped in your orbit, edging ever closer to the Event Horizon that will surely destroy us. But tell me if our path is so doomed why my heart leaps at the prospect of pledging my death to you? What finer gift is there but that of my last breath, freely given?

In your face I see rivers of blood and the thrum of charging men. I hear the chants of our forefathers and the long line of prophets that came before, accumulating across the centuries into the tapestry that is your flesh.

Yet as you lie here beside me, the darkness kept at bay by the stubborn flame of a lone candle, your face serene with sleep and your sweat acrid and sharp in my nose - I see just a man plagued by a crown of thorns. I think of my hands, bathing in the blood of innocents in your name. Your name, a mantra, a hymn that ignites us all with awe and hunger. I wonder if knowing deep down you are just a man makes me more or less the fool.

Then your eyes open, lashes fluttering, and I see the light burning there and I know messiahs are not born but made in the hearth of a home, in the fierceness of a loyal heart and the beating lifeblood of a people starved of hope. I care not if you bleed red or ichor, I know only that I will follow you into hell itself, until we burn to ash and we become whispers, legends. Until we are nothing but dust floating across the dunes, the wind that stokes the flames of a thousand more rebellions.

#creative writing #poetry #religious trauma #religious imagery #love #devotion #stream of consciousness #love poetry

[brbabcs]

nothing without love. ( snapshots of max arciniega and gustavo fring, throughout the years. written from the perspective of max, and based upon a backstory built around breaking bad canon. ) please do not repost elsewhere. reblogs welcome.

valparaiso, chile. june 1981.

in the years previous, your life has been a race: feet dragging through sand, one heavy weight to another, the word relay becoming absent in your seventeenth year of life. therein lies the absence of a hand, passing one heaviness to another, allowing a singular exhale to find the next.

a steady rumble of: i’ve got it this week, maximino, and one hand  —  brief, ghosting  —  clasped around your shoulder, becomes the last memory you have of your brother. from then on, the weight becomes your own. the weeks following drag on, and on, and on. it seems to never stop, with every bite of yours, becoming a break. one snap of your spine at a time, until a hand  —  steady, reliable  — on the small of your back aligns you once more.

this moment in particular, reminds you of this. gustavo’s touch relieves any trace of what once had been heavy, present in every corner of your hand-built-life: tugging you out from the rubble, and into a rapture. in these minutes, you don’t allow for an exhale. instead, you find your inhale between a kiss that tastes of bittered coffee, and sweet, sweet, nothings, while your hand  — pious, unwavering  —  slides behind the back of his neck. 

your hair, still wet, yet now absent of seasalt, drips an imprint onto his shirt.

in an earlier time, you may have apologized. (for the kiss, for the water, for the heaviness.) now, you tip into a sun-soaked grin, and fall into him further.

dusseldorf, germany. march 1983. 

there’s a morning that feels like the sun has risen for the first time. it’s a marvel of a moment, with all the succinct simplisticity that gustavo provides. some people, you think, would hate the mundane. they’d yawn, stretch their arms, and chase after something ravenous. but as you watch gustavo straighten his tie, blinking into the mirror with the blank-slate-face you’ve come to know well, you think simplicity, in all of its forms, is far more exhilarating. 

your feet find the ground in silence, moving to align the front of your shoulders with his, and replace his hands with your own. you straighten his tie, press a kiss to his cheek, and nestle the curve of your jaw into the crook of his neck. his presence becomes a tether to reality, knitting itself into the very essence of your grin; every echo of your laughter. without him, you wonder where you would be. there’s a pause  —  a brief fraction of a moment designated towards this thought  —  before you abandon it entirely. any reason to fantasize of otherwise is obsolete, washed away as he presses his lips to your forehead. this action, however brief, reminds you that to chase after anything ravenous is a waste.

you’d much prefer the significance of satiation.

george town, the cayman islands. september 1984.

the photo itself means nothing in the face of his smile: ear to ear, tugging a radiance onto features that elicits a thought of how something so bright could exist on this earth without burning it whole. it blinds you, inching into every corner of your own grin until you can’t tell where his ends, and yours begins. 

to anyone else, this may be an infinitesimal moment. to you, it is a fraction of the universe, sliced out in just the right dose. gifted, on a silver platter. to you, it is the final piece of the puzzle, slotted into a space of your heart that reminds it to keep on beating. 

one infinitesimal moment to the next, one fraction of the universe to another: to you, this moment is everything.

the andes, chile. november 1985.

gustavo says, we are insurmountable, and you believe him. 

he says it fervently, intently, with the ever-lasting and ardent declaration that you imagine a prophet to have. as if his words, merely a promise, are nothing but a statement of fact. some years ago, you may have laughed  —   as any would, upon gazing at heights that far surpass your own. but halfway up the mountain, fifty percent of the way there, with beginnings that smolder into a fire that’s now merely smoke in the distance, you think his words are closer to a scripture, than a story.

there will always be nonbelievers. the faithless, the doubtful. once, you may have been one of them. skeptical of your own future, hesitant to invest in his. but gustavo says, we are insurmountable, and you are no longer staring at heights that tower over your own. you may only be five foot seven (on a good day) and halfway up the mountain, but you think that with only an outstretch of your hand, you could hold the whole world in your palms. 

you lace your fingers with his, and wonder if you already do.

michoacán, mexico. february 1986.

recipes, your mother said, are nothing without love.

you’ve scrawled every step down, crafted all the necessary pieces to align into memory, and folded a love letter within your own creation. the word hermanos, in contrast to it all, tugs a full bellied laugh from you; your head, shaking briefly at the mere thought.

it doesn’t bother you, as some may believe it should. the story of your life has never been written for anyone else’s consumption but your own: once, swallowed down in one hard-to-digest moment to the next. now, it’s a smooth sip of sweetness; your honeyed heartbeat pitter pattering against the word hermanos. like drizzle on a windowpane, tapping against the glass, in a reminder of your shelter from an ever-present storm. 

you write every recipe in pin-point accuracy. in careful script that tells of one part fable, and one part truth. a bond, surely, but nothing of brothers. only a step closer to good friends.

however, there are some things, you think, that are implied. some things, that you needn't add to a list of ingredients, regardless of the presence of such.

after all  —  recipes are nothing, without love.

#max arciniega #gusmax #gus/max #maximino arciniega #mine #writing #i had this on my rp blog at one point but then i remade. therefore it is here now #salute emoji to my gusmax fans in the crowd. apologies for max arciniega's romanticization he is just like this (to me)

[ome-magical-ramblings]

Wisdom, Torah, Tear, Tarot.

“Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear to my cry; Do not be silent at my tears; For I am a stranger with You, A sojourner like all my fathers. Psalm 39:12

and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 Rabbi Nachman mentioned:

מִי שֶׁאֵינוֹ יָכוֹל לִבְכּוֹת, יִסְתַּכֵּל עַל הָרָקִיעַ, כִּי הוּא גָּרַם בְּכִיָּה לַמַּיִם. A person who cannot bring himself to cry should gaze at the firmament, because it was the firmament that caused the waters to cry [by separating between the lower and upper waters of Creation]. Enough quoting, I hope that this set the tone and that crying or tearing up is very potent. The image of St Peter's tears is something I wanted to start this post. Wondering if one is stone cold or their heart is not moved by scripture, my only recommendation is not to force it, but find it within yourself and ask the angels, the saints, the prophets, and the gods to soften and wash your heart anew.

Start by a small prayer, a little everyday, slowly your heart will open up and the tears would be of joy, out of control, tears will come running down without control. it is a very powerful sign, but a sign nonetheless and as the door of wisdom opens up the eyes water down. Without water we would become hard, dry, and of course we wouldn't have the gladness, if you think about it the same eyes the burst with tears of joy is the same eyes the weeps with tears of sadness. In this sense, this might seems a very rambling post but I hope that with it carries the weight of this practical teaching. I am not telling you to force yourself to weep or cry but to find it in yourself the knack or the switch that would loosen and soften your heart. In the Sepher Shimmush Tehillim there's a mention of a magical usage of one of the psalms 131 to lower your pride. In that way you open up a secret door or an open secret to this profound door. I recommend Likutei Moharan 175:1 if you're interested in reading more about the kabbalistic meaning of it. If you ever wonder and if you ever hold yourself, am I doing this correctly or am I lying to myself? In the end this is one of the signs on the way, you will see tears bursting from your ear when you read scripture and hopefully you will feel the Joy of Wisdom and the holiness of it. somewhat short post today :)

#occult #tarot #tarotblr #wisdom #christianity #catholic #witchblr #ritual #magic #invocation #prayer #angelic #folk magic #angelic magick #saints #magick

[libellule-ao3]

Life Links

10. Diego Caplan / Dance with the Death

Summary: After a delicate question from Jae, Diego remembers his last duel.

Rating: T+

⚠️ Warning⚠️: Canon-typical violence, death.

Chapter index - previous chapter (MC)- next chapter (Poppy Pomfrey)

A/N: At the time I wrote this (March 2021), Diego was portrayed very superficially in the game, the connection between the dance and the duel was unclear and I didn't like him very much (it's improved a bit since then). And yet, the chapter dedicated to him is one of my favourites in this series. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

“How did it feel?” says Jae as he lights a cigarette, lying on a deck chair facing the English Channel, shimmering under the moon. Inside the house, Chiara examines Penny, very weakened by months of deprivation and servitude.

Sitting on the ground, Diego dives into his memories, his eyes riveted on the sand that he lets slip through his fingers.

Triumphant Diego Caplan greets the jubilant crowd who chants his name and applauds his victory. The stronger the opponents, the better the show, the greater the glory of the winner, so Diego feels deep gratitude for the worthy duelists. They are partners who contribute to his legend. Caplan keeps his English championship crown and complacently poses for the front page of the Daily Prophet. A myriad of flashbulbs crackle. He runs a hand through his dark hair and gives a dazzling smile to the photographers... The hysterical audience shouts his name and reaches out to touch him. Diego savours this moment of glory, preceding another evening of unbridled sex washed down with champagne.

Suddenly, crazy shadows eclipse the lights of the arena. They move around, enveloping the crowd and blowing a wind of panic before spreading out along the walls. In an instant, death eaters block all the exits and one of them materializes, alone, in the arena. A mask preserves his anonymity. The only visible piece of flesh in a dark mass of loose clothing, a large hand clutches a fir wood wand. A tough, determined and intimidating character.

Diego’s smile fades. The wizard had expected this. They had warned him that this would happen. Diego Caplan’s resounding success has upset Voldemort and his followers. He represents everything that these supremacists abhor. He is a half-blood who fraternises with everyone, regardless of their extraction. That such a wretch should have the impudence to dominate such a demanding discipline of witchcraft is an affront to all purebloods! They cannot tolerate it. The champion has become a target to be slaughtered on the altar of their noxious propaganda.

In a sharp voice, the stranger demands a duel without delay, notwithstanding the fatigue of a man coming out of a confrontation. Completely disloyal, but any negotiation is futile. So the champion accepts the challenge of this challenger, whose malice vitiates the air like a poison. Then Diego focuses on his opponent. The world no longer exists. In his ear, his heartbeats the measure of the eternal refrain of his life, and his whole body prepares to dance.

The two wizards greet each other.

The duel is a subtle dance where you have to impose your rhythm on your opponent, so Diego takes the initiative. Both men use their magic. Attack, dodge, riposte, protection, feint, offensive, parry.

Usually, each movement improvises a complex choreography where the fighters become artists. Dance of life. Terrible as it may be, no one can deny the grace of a confrontation between two valiant and self-respecting fighters.

But there is no beauty in this raging dance, oozing hatred and contempt. Diego struggles to read the sequences of his opponent, whose wand whips through the air, casting spell after spell. Merciless. Disturbed by this outpouring of hatred which is foreign to him, Diego Caplan loses his rhythm. A misstep threatens.

The most unforgivable of spells is cast. The sorcerer nimbly dodges the impossible to parry spell. With horror, Diego sees in a morbid slow motion, the green lightning strikes a woman who falls dead, her face frozen in an eternal expression of fear. Dumbfounded, he becomes deaf to the terror of the audience taken hostage.

Then Diego understands. This is not a duel, a dance, or even a show of strength. It is an execution.

A shudder runs through him as his brown eyes take in the assembly of tense, tearful, trembling, or emotionless faces. One dodge and one of them will fall. The sorcerer resigns himself to the last will.

To look his first and last enemy straight in the eye.

The champion discovers the hard face of a fifty-year-old with a murderous aura, as inflexible as his wand. An emerald gaze devoid of pity pierces him.

What will the world remember about Diego Caplan? As an example of Pureblood superiority? Or a martyr who will exalt the spirit of those who oppose You-Know-Who? A final thought flies to his loved ones.

The fir wand moves without trembling, faster than the blink of an eye, while something inside him rises like a powerful and devastating groundswell. The rage to live. The man is lively. A privilege of youth, Diego is more so.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Death is a demanding dance partner who does not easily accept to be led. But Diego Caplan is a particularly skilled dancer.

The spell strikes in the chest. The enemy collapses. After a moment of stupefaction, when the entire room tries to understand, comes chaos. The ceiling of the arena collapses with a bang. Spells fly everywhere, shrill cries are heard, and wizards flee. Taking advantage of the confusion, Talbott Winger, Auror and Voldemort's opponent, grabs his arm and drags him out of the arena to teleport them to safety.

Then, under the aegis of Annie and Jae, he joins Chiara in France. The lycanthrope needs a benevolent guardian during the full moon and he needs the balm of a kind-hearted friend. It is an obvious choice to bring these two exiles together.

“Well, Diego? How did it feel to kill someone?”

Diego returns to the present time and watches the smuggler make smoke rings with his mouth. Jae keeps his thoughts to himself, but he is afraid for Annie, who evacuated him against his will to save him. He fears she will be scarred forever by war and Death. Diego understands all this better than anyone, but his friend doesn't need to know everything.

After a few months, he can say without lying. “It doesn’t matter, since in the end necessity has erased everything.”

Jae frowns, puzzled. “Even if it was Barnaby’s father?”

#hphm #hphm fic #diego caplan #Circle of Khanna #battle of hogwarts #LL fic #harry potter hogwarts mystery #esl writer

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Jeremiah and the Potter’s House

1 The word which came to Jeremiah from the Lord, saying,

2 Up! go down to the potter's house, and there I will let my words come to your ears.

3 Then I went down to the potter's house, and he was doing his work on the stones.

4 And when the vessel, which he was forming out of earth, got damaged in the hand of the potter, he made it again into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to make it.

5 Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying,

6 O Israel, am I not able to do with you as this potter does? says the Lord. See, like earth in the potter's hand are you in my hands, O Israel.

7 Whenever I say anything about uprooting a nation or a kingdom, and smashing it and sending destruction on it;

8 If, in that very minute, that nation of which I was talking is turned away from its evil, my purpose of doing evil to them will be changed.

9 And whenever I say anything about building up a nation or a kingdom, and planting it;

10 If, in that very minute, it does evil in my eyes, going against my orders, then my good purpose, which I said I would do for them, will be changed.

11 Now, then, say to the men of Judah and to the people of Jerusalem, This is what the Lord has said: See, I am forming an evil thing against you, and designing a design against you: let every man come back now from his evil way, and let your ways and your doings be changed for the better.

12 But they will say, There is no hope: we will go on in our designs, and every one of us will do what he is moved by the pride of his evil heart to do.

13 So this is what the Lord has said: Make search among the nations and see who has had word of such things; the virgin of Israel has done a very shocking thing.

14 Will the white snow go away from the top of Sirion? will the cold waters flowing from the mountains become dry?

15 For my people have put me out of their memory, burning perfumes to that which is nothing; and because of this, I will put a cause of falling in their ways, even in the old roads, and will make them go on side-roads, in a way not lifted up;

16 Making their land a thing of wonder, causing sounds of surprise for ever; everyone who goes by will be overcome with wonder, shaking his head.

17 I will send them in flight, as from an east wind, before the attacker; I will let them see my back and not my face on the day of their downfall.

18 Then they said, Come, let us make a design against Jeremiah; for teaching will never be cut off from the priest, or wisdom from the wise, or the word from the prophet. Come, let us make use of his words for an attack on him, and let us give attention with care to what he says.

19 Give thought to me, O Lord, and give ear to the voice of those who put forward a cause against me.

20 Is evil to be the reward of good? for they have made a deep hole for my soul. Keep in mind how I took my place before you, to say a good word for them so that your wrath might be turned away from them.

21 For this cause, let their children be without food, and give them over to the power of the sword; and let their wives be without children and become widows; let their men be overtaken by death, and their young men be put to the sword in the fight.

22 Let a cry for help go up from their houses, when you send an armed band on them suddenly: for they have made a hole in which to take me, and have put nets for my feet secretly.

23 But you, Lord, have knowledge of all the designs which they have made against my life; let not their evil-doing be covered or their sin be washed away from before your eyes: but let it be a cause of falling before you: so do to them in the time of your wrath. — Jeremiah 18 | Bible in Basic English (BBE) The Bible in Basic English is in the public domain. Cross References: Genesis 6:6; Leviticus 26:32; Deuteronomy 29:19; 1 Samuel 2:30; 1 Samuel 13:13; 1 Samuel 15:33; 1 Samuel 19:4; 1 Kings 9:8; 2 Kings 17:13; Nehemiah 4:5; Job 5:13; Job 27:21; Psalm 35:7; Psalm 48:7; Psalm 52:2; Psalm 59:5; Psalm 63:10; Psalm 106:45; Psalm 119:85; Psalm 140:5; Isaiah 29:16; Isaiah 57:10; Isaiah 57:14; Isaiah 62:10; Isaiah 66:8; Jeremiah 1:10; Jeremiah 2:10-11; Jeremiah 7:3; Jeremiah 19:1-2; Jeremiah 31:28; Lamentations 3:59; Amos 9:11; Matthew 20:15; Acts 26:20; Romans 9:20-21

#plot against Jeremiah #the Potter #the clay #Jeremiah 18 #Book of Jeremiah #Old Testament #BBE #Bible in Basic English

[theculturedmarxist]

Jeremiah 2

1 Moreover the word of the LORD came to me, saying,

2 Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, saying, Thus saith the LORD; I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown.

3 Israel was holiness unto the LORD, and the first fruits of his increase: all that devour him shall offend; evil shall come upon them, saith the LORD.

4 Hear ye the word of the LORD, O house of Jacob, and all the families of the house of Israel:

5 Thus saith the LORD, What iniquity have your fathers found in me, that they are gone far from me, and have walked after vanity, and are become vain?

6 Neither said they, Where is the LORD that brought us up out of the land of Egypt, that led us through the wilderness, through a land of deserts and of pits, through a land of drought, and of the shadow of death, through a land that no man passed through, and where no man dwelt?

7 And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land, and made mine heritage an abomination.

8 The priests said not, Where is the LORD? and they that handle the law knew me not: the pastors also transgressed against me, and the prophets prophesied by Baal, and walked after things that do not profit.

9 Wherefore I will yet plead with you, saith the LORD, and with your children's children will I plead.

10 For pass over the isles of Chittim, and see; and send unto Kedar, and consider diligently, and see if there be such a thing.

11 Hath a nation changed their gods, which are yet no gods? but my people have changed their glory for that which doth not profit.

12 Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this, and be horribly afraid, be ye very desolate, saith the LORD.

13 For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of livingwaters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.

14 Is Israel a servant? is he a homeborn slave?why is he spoiled?

15 The young lions roared upon him, and yelled, and they made his land waste: his cities are burned without inhabitant.

16 Also the children of Noph and Tahapanes have broken the crown of thy head.

17 Hast thou not procured this unto thyself, in that thou hast forsaken the LORD thy God,when he led thee by the way?

18 And now what hast thou to do in the way of Egypt, to drink the waters of Sihor? or what hast thou to do in the way of Assyria, to drink the waters of the river?

19 Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thy backslidings shall reprove thee: know therefore and see that it is an evil thing and bitter, that thou hast forsaken the LORD thy God, and that my fear is not in thee, saith the Lord GOD of hosts.

20 For of old time I have broken thy yoke, and burst thy bands; and thou saidst, I will not transgress; when upon every high hill and under every green tree thou wanderest, playing the harlot.

21 Yet I had planted thee a noble vine, wholly a rightseed: how then art thou turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine unto me?

22 For though thou wash thee with nitre, and take thee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord GOD.

23 How canst thou say, I am not polluted, I have not gone after Baalim?see thy way in the valley,know what thou hast done: thou art a swift dromedary traversing her ways;

24 A wild ass used to the wilderness, that snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure*; in her occasion who can turn her away? all they that seek her will not weary themselves; in her month they shall find her.

25 Withhold thy foot from being unshod, and thy throat from thirst: but thou saidst, There is no hope: no; for I have loved strangers, and after them will I go.

26 As the thief is ashamed when he is found, so is the house of Israel ashamed; they, their kings, their princes, and their priests, and their prophets,

27 Saying to a stock, Thou art my father; and to a stone, Thou hast brought me forth: for they have turned their back unto me, and not their face: but in the time of their trouble they will say, Arise, and save us.

28 But where are thy gods that thou hast made thee? let them arise, if they can save thee in the time of thy trouble: for according to the number of thy cities are thy gods, O Judah.

29 Wherefore will ye plead with me? ye all have transgressed against me, saith the LORD.

30 In vain have I smitten your children; they received no correction: your own sword hath devoured your prophets, like a destroying lion.

31 O generation, see ye the word of the LORD. Have I been a wilderness unto Israel? a land of darkness? wherefore say my people, We are lords; we will come no more unto thee?

32 Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? yet my people have forgotten me days without number.

33 Why trimmest thou thy way to seek love? therefore hast thou also taught the wicked ones thy ways.

34 Also in thy skirts is found the blood of the souls of the poor innocents: I have not found it by secret search, but upon all these.

35 Yet thou sayest, Because I am innocent, surely his anger shall turn from me. Behold, I will plead with thee, because thou sayest, I have not sinned.

36 Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way? thou also shalt be ashamed of Egypt, as thou wast ashamed of Assyria.

37 Yea, thou shalt go forth from him, and thine hands upon thine head: for the LORD hath rejected thy confidences, and thou shalt not prosper in them.

#old testament #israel #israel palestine conflict

[rainsmediaradio]

MFM Daily Devotional 29th December 2023 By Dr. D.K Olukoya – How to Get Divine Attention

MFM Daily Devotional

The Topic of Mountain Top Life Daily Devotional for 29th December 2023 Is ”How to Get Divine Attention”  

Memory Verse: Psalm 34:15 The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and His ears are open to their cry. Motivational Quote: Divine favour and righteousness will make you an object of God’s love, attention and care. Prophetic word for today I declare that you are the apple of God’s eyes and He will never forsake you, in the name of Jesus. Fire Scripture: Exodus 3:1-7 Praise & Worship BIBLE IN ONE YEAR: Zechariah 13 – 14 & Revelations 17 -18

MFM DAILY DEVOTIONAL 29TH DECEMBER 2023 

Every child of God will enjoy divine attention if he aligns himself to the kingdom of God and its purposes. The truth is that if you are kingdom-focussed and God’s purposes are represented in your desire, passion and pursuit, His attention will be on you. The Bible says that the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous and His ears are ever open to their cry. God’s word also says that the eyes of the Lord run to and fro the whole world to show Himself mighty on behalf of those who love Him. That is divine attention. The following are some of the important steps you should take in order to get divine attention: First, you must be born again. New birth is the greatest key to getting divine attention. When you give your life to Christ and become God’s child as well as a citizen of heaven. His attention will always be on you. Second, you must die to self and be His kingdom builder. Those who are sold out to God and are committed to the promotion of His kingdom agenda or projects are candidates of His divine attention. Such people are dead to self and have given their all to Christ. Hence, they become the apple of His eye and object of His love and attention. Third, you must be righteous. Bible characters who lived consistently righteous lifestyle, in spite of the challenges they had, enjoyed divine attention throughout their lives: Job, Daniel, David and the apostles. If you want to enjoy divine attention, be righteous. Fourth, you must demonstrate uncommon faith. Believers who consistently serve God with unwavering faith get His attention. He rewards those who diligently and faithfully serve Him with His love and attention. He keeps His eyes on such believers perpetually, Fifth, you can win divine attention by engaging in purposeful and sustained fasting and prayer. When there was a plot to exterminate Queen Esther and the entire Jewish population, fasting and prayer was the key that got the Jews divine attention and deliverance. Beloved. I pray that you will be a candidate of divine intervention from today, in the name of Jesus.

MFM DAILY PRAYER POINTS 29TH DECEMBER 2023

MORNING 1. Father, let my life and destiny receive Your attention, in the name of Jesus. 2. Father, let my marital destiny receive divine attention, in the name of Jesus. 3. Henceforth, my life shall attract divine attention, favour and help, in the name of Jesus. EVENING 4. Father, as You turned Your attention to blind Bartimaeus and turned his life around, turn Your gracious attention to me, in the name of Jesus. 5. O God, let my family receive divine attention, in the name of Jesus. 6. My career/ministry/business, receive divine attention now, in the name of Jesus. 7. Blood of Jesus, wash away any evil mark that can deny me of divine attention, in the name of Jesus. Read the full article

#Dr.D.KOlukoya

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 390

John 1:4

UNDERSTANDING PROPHETIC MANDATES 24: Contents Of Prophecy 4

Amo 3:7 CERTAINLY, THE ALMIGHTY LORD DOESN'T DO ANYTHING UNLESS HE FIRST REVEALS HIS SECRET TO HIS SERVANTS THE PROPHETS. GW

We want to look at what God wants to achieve with Prophecies, in understanding them and acknowledging the correct and timely contents.

Let us go by way of reviewing Potency of Contents again.

Do you remember we applied the reference of drugs in treating Malaria when considering the point God made in the scripture below?

Jer 23:28 Let the prophet who has had a dream go ahead and tell his dream. LET THE PERSON WHO HAS RECEIVED MY MESSAGE REPORT THAT MESSAGE FAITHFULLY. WHAT IS LIKE STRAW CANNOT COMPARE TO WHAT IS LIKE GRAIN! I, THE LORD, AFFIRM IT! NET

There’s a Medical term called PLACEBO. It’s anything of no [direct] medical benefit which could yet make people feel better or benefit psychologically.

What it means is that a doctor could give you plain starch, but tell you it will cure your sickness, and because you believe it, you actually feel better.

This is where fake things can actually work; by applying man’s weak psychology.

Jer 28:15 Then the prophet Jeremiah said to Hananiah the prophet, Give ear, now, Hananiah; THE LORD HAS NOT SENT YOU; BUT YOU ARE MAKING THIS PEOPLE PUT THEIR FAITH IN WHAT IS FALSE. BBE

But feelings do not address purpose profoundly. Besides, there are diseases that can’t be cured by Placebo.

Placebo is obviously a Faith gift from God to help the Human body heal itself, but if it does not apply the TRUTH, it will not be Wholesome in impact.

Hag 1:6 YOU PLANTED A LOT, BUT YOU HARVESTED LITTLE. YOU EAT, BUT YOU'RE NEVER FULL. YOU DRINK, BUT YOU'RE STILL THIRSTY. YOU WEAR CLOTHING, BUT YOU NEVER HAVE ENOUGH TO KEEP YOU WARM. You spend money as fast as you earn it. GW

This is what happened to the Israelites when they left off building God’s Temple but were building houses for themselves, and thriving in their businesses.

Anyhow, let’s now consider what the purpose of PROPHECY is, to God and His People.

Jer 23:29 MY MESSAGE IS LIKE A FIRE THAT PURGES DROSS! IT IS LIKE A HAMMER THAT BREAKS A ROCK IN PIECES! I, THE LORD, SO AFFIRM IT! NET

“So saith the Lord” or “I the Lord affirm it” is a signature, impressing the Purpose of Prophecy.

So, we see a FIRE and HAMMER here, right?

Let’s see again, what Jesus came to do amongst us.

Mal 3:2-3 But who will be able to endure the day when he comes? WHO WILL BE ABLE TO SURVIVE WHEN HE APPEARS? HE WILL BE LIKE STRONG SOAP, LIKE A FIRE THAT REFINES METAL. HE WILL COME TO JUDGE LIKE ONE WHO REFINES AND PURIFIES SILVER. AS A METALWORKER REFINES SILVER AND GOLD, so the LORD's messenger will purify the priests, so that they will bring to the LORD the right kind of offerings. GNB

Here again, we see Father & Son in Harmony of Purpose and function.

We see Soap and Fire. Soap washes surfaces, Fire purges from within, Hammer breaks down hardness of hearts: implying Rebellions and disobedience of people.

Do you remember this?

Eze 18:31-32 Put away all your evil-doing in which you have done sin; and MAKE FOR YOURSELVES A NEW HEART AND A NEW SPIRIT: why are you desiring death, O children of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of him on whom death comes, says the Lord: be turned back then, and have life. BBE

Eze 36:26-27 I WILL GIVE YOU A NEW HEART AND PUT A NEW SPIRIT IN YOU. I WILL REMOVE YOUR STUBBORN HEARTS AND GIVE YOU OBEDIENT HEARTS. I will put my Spirit in you. I will enable you to live by my laws, and you will obey my rules. GW

The CORE PURPOSE of Prophecy is to REFINE Humanity and make their hearts attune to God.

The CORE CONTENT is JESUS; the refinement is to make us become [step by step] like JESUS.

Rom 8:29 God knew them before he made the world. And HE DECIDED THAT THEY WOULD BE LIKE HIS SON. THEN JESUS WOULD BE THE FIRSTBORN OF MANY BROTHERS AND SISTERS. ERV

Prophecy will Drill & Grill, Purge & Flush; nothing convenient or relaxing, till you are perfected.

When Prophecy [always] dwells on declaration of sweet and good times, men would get off-course and lost.

Prophecy mainly addresses Morality and focus of Humanity on God’s will.

Isa 1:2-3 The LORD has said, "LISTEN, HEAVEN AND EARTH! THE CHILDREN I RAISED HAVE TURNED AGAINST ME. OXEN AND DONKEYS KNOW WHO OWNS AND FEEDS THEM, BUT MY PEOPLE WON'T EVER LEARN." CEV

Prophecy is to Bring Men from straying, back to God.

Mal 4:5-6 "But BEFORE the great and terrible day of the LORD comes, I WILL SEND YOU THE PROPHET ELIJAH. HE WILL BRING FATHERS AND CHILDREN TOGETHER AGAIN; otherwise I would have to come and destroy your country." GNB

May we never be far from or separated from our God, IN JESUS NAME.

Join us on Friday, to peruse this insightful and enlightening Sub-Subtopic further.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Wednesday, August 09, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

[wolint]

THE LOINCLOTH PRINCIPLE

Jeremiah 13:1-11 MEV Thus says the LORD to me, “Go and buy yourself a linen waistband and put it upon your loins, and do not put it in water.” [2] So I bought a waistband according to the word of the LORD and put it on my loins. [3] The word of the LORD came to me the second time, saying, [4] “Take the waistband that you have, which is upon your loins, and arise, go to the Euphrates and hide it there in a hole of the rock.” [5] So I went and hid it by the Euphrates, as the LORD had commanded me. [6] After many days the LORD said to me, “Arise, go to the Euphrates and take the waistband from there, which I commanded you to hide there.” [7] Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug, and took the waistband from the place where I had hidden it. But the waistband was destroyed. It was profitable for nothing. [8] Then the word of the LORD came to me: [9] Thus says the LORD: After this manner I will destroy the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. [10] This evil people, who refuse to hear My words, who walk in the imagination of their hearts, and walk after other gods, to serve them, and to worship them, shall be even as this waistband which is good for nothing. [11] For as the waistband cleaves to the loins of a man, so I have caused the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah to cleave to Me, says the LORD, so that they might be to Me a people for renown, and for a praise, and for a glory; but they would not listen.

I am very certain that most will look at the title and think “what’s this about underwear?” why would there be an underwear principle in God’s word?” Imagine being asked to buy something purposely for an experiment for destruction! Or having to wear your underwear without washing it to prove a point! Imagine the smell! The loincloth! Our modern-day everyday underwear is a piece of clothing that we all need and wear daily, and the closest item of clothing worn next to the skin. We buy underwear from wherever we like, in whatever shape and colours we like but imagine the Lord asking you to purposely buy a “loincloth,” underwear for God to prove to us the importance of His word and love. The loincloth was corrupted in verse 7; it’s now rotten from being left too long in wasteland water: the loincloth was good for nothing; it could no longer be worn; nor was it fit for any other use; it was spoilt. We too could become unfit for God to use if we are not in His will and purpose. The prophet Jeremiah was not disobedient to the heavenly vision: he obeyed all of God’s instructions. His express order and command: he put on the ruined loincloth; without washing it before or after, and he wore it publicly for some time. Will you do so if God instructs you to? Anything and anyone can be used by the Lord if they are humble and obedient. The loincloth represents the people of Judah and by reference, every believer as seen in verses 9 and 10. God chose us for His service and glory, but we turn away and serve other gods just like the Israelis did. As the loincloth lost its beauty and usefulness, so we will lose our beauty and usefulness in life without the word and Spirit of God. The imagery of verse 11 is that of “clinging” to something. Loincloth! Belt, short and girdle are used in other translations to describe how we should act and treat the word of God. We must cling, Clive and hold on to it with desperation. Some so many people refuse to hear God’s word that He sends by His prophets, pastors, and leaders to whom we sometimes turn a deaf ear; and though these leaders keep pressing in with the word and are desperate for people to give them a hearing, a lot of people still reject God’s word. God is saying that when we cling to His word and wrap ourselves in Him and dwell in His courts; He will favour us with his presence, and encourage us to follow after Him, and cleave to Him in faith and affection as His special and peculiar people above all others, especially favoured and blessed by Him and He will make us a name, and praise for His glory; He will make us His famous and renowned people. Clinging to the Lord keeps us grounded in the storms of life, so, tighten your loincloth, your underwear, your belt, and cling to the Lord in desperation for His guidance and leading, a tightened loincloth will not fall off in any situation and will keep us anchored in the Lord. Tighten your underwear for the journey. Shalom Women of light international prayer ministries.

#devotional bibletudy christianpost women's ministry

[blinkngone]

they get lost (come find yourself)

Between being the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One's Chosen One, and being just Harry and just Ginny, they get lost. The press seems to know everything about them (in truth they know nothing): each kiss is "reckless behavior," holding hands when exiting pubs are "shameful displays of affection," and giving lost strangers of the opposite sex directions on snowy evenings translates to "cheating on his/her partners."

Mostly, they laugh it off. sometimes, they fight. their fights are heated to say the least; accusations are spat, past mistakes brought up and there is shameless ridiculing. but in the aftermath, they reach for each other, needing warmth, strength, and relishing in the fact that they're alive, that they're able to fight. when they make love on those nights (they never fuck on those nights, no), they look into each others' eyes, whispering i love you, i love you, i love you.

on one such night, when their fight has become a dream you can't recall, ginny says, "let's go somewhere. somewhere we can be who we truly are." harry is still catching his breath, he says, "what d'you mean, 'somehwere we can be who we truly are'?"

she doesn't respond for a long time, like she doesn't know the answer, then she says, "where I don't have to drop your hand when I see a reporter. somewhere we can kiss without having that printed in the Prophet the next day." she pushes herself onto her elbows, peering into his green eyes, she says, "take me somehwere where I can love you like I truly do: no charms to keep the house locked, no locking our Floo." he reaches to tuck a strand behind her small ear, "i'm sorry you have to put up with the press." 

"i love you, i love you, i love you," she whispers over the scar that Voldemort's Killing Curse left on his chest a year ago.

/

a rusted key in his broad palm, ginny's calloused palm in his other hand, backpacks fitted across their shoulders. then they go spinning (oh boy do they go spinning.)

when the world shifts into view again, volterra is perched quaintly atop a green hill, looming over them, as if to say, "come find yourselves."

/

they rent a room in a white-washed hotel and the shuttered windows are painted green. theirs is a simple room: one master bed, a sunmica paneled closet and a low coffee table with two chairs in the wrought iron balcony. they dump their bags on the soft carpet beneath their feet, then harry crawls onto the middle of the bed on all fours. behind him, ginny has started a slow strip-tease.

/

the lady at the reception is an old widow. the skin at the corners of her milky blue eyes are puckered and her teeth are yellow. she warms upto them quickly, in spite of their shitty italian. she goes out of her way to arrange an english breakfast once in two weeks, runs her thick nails across shiny pamphlets to point out the tourist spots. the lady has a son who lazes in and about the place in cotton slacks and wears a blue cap front-to-back, like the skater boys on the poster in sirius' room. whenever they walk into the bright foyer, hand-in-hand, after one, two, three, sometimes four rounds of spectacular sex, harry sees the boy eyeing ginny. her bare legs and her toned arse and her flat stomach, and the faint outline of her bra through his shirt (turns out ginny packed no blouses of her own.)

when they visit a cathedral, their sweat drying on their skin in the coolness from the old stone walls, he tells ginny, "that bloke back at the hotel stares at you all the fucking time. i feel like fucking murdering him."

ginny laughs, low and breathy. she presses back to him, two lovers admiring the stained glass. she says, "very hypocritical of you harry potter. weren't you doing the exact same thing back in my fifth year?" harry breathes his yes onto the back of her pale, freckled neck.

"i still want to kill him."

she leans back further into him, rubbing her arse onto his crotch, "now, now, potter, would you really do something that sinful in a holy cathedral?"

"wouldn't dare."

 he dares, though, he more than dares to commit a sin. after dinner that night, he smuggles them inside that same, godforsaken, abandoned cathedral and he fucks her against the rugged walls, on the dust coated confessional, bent over the platform which was perhaps used as an altar back in time. her moans and shouts echo off the ancient stones.

spent, he asks her, "did you want to do this when you said you wanted to visit someplace."

"something like this, yes."

"are you happy?"

"i'm happy, very happy. but no where near satiated," she says, climbing on top of him.

"minx, minx, minx," he says.

"i love you."

******************************************

I haven't written in so long, please show some love: reblog and comment! much love x

#harrypotter #harryxginny #hinny #hp #hinny headcanon #ficlet #fic #jkr

[silverflame2724]

Accidental Martial God WWX

That was exacty what I meant actually but I do have a few more povs if you want.

LQRs reaction to a demonic cultivator ascending, JGS and JGY reaction to the Yin Tiger Tally moving completely out of reach, WQ pondering the true requirements for ascension given WWX doesn't have a golden core yet ascended, WWX musing on Godhood and on his new followers both the good and the more disturbing worshipers.

Maybe LWJ protects the Wen Remnants because WWX asked him to in a dream and after he succeeds (13 years later) he ascends and is finally reunited with WWX.

Lan Qiren did not know what to think. Wei Wuxian, his most troublesome student, a demonic cultivator, had ascended. He’d ascended. How was that even possible? Were the Heavens blind? Why would they allow someone like Wei Wuxian to ascend?

From what Lan Qiren had thought, only those who are righteous and followed the correct path in life like the Lan clan’s founder, Lan An, would be worthy of ascending.

Either the qualifications for ascension were lower than he thought or Lan Qiren had been horribly mistaken about Wei Wuxian’s personality and motivations for using demonic cultivation. That last thought made Lan Qiren feel very uncomfortable.

He’d always been harsh on the boy and disregarded him, even - he ashamedly admitted - punishing him harsher and more frequently than others.

He’d thought he was in the right because of how Wei Wuxian was but…..

But if he was wrong then Lan Qiren owed him an apology.

………………….

Jin Guangshan wanted to scream out in frustration seeing Wei Wuxian ascend. That brat had the Stygian Tiger Seal on him - according to his spies - and now that he ascended, the Seal went with him.

He had had so many plans on bribing Wei Wuxian to his side or killing him when he refused - as well as stealing the Seal - and then taking over the cultivation world, lording over it as he was always meant to be.

Now those plans are ruined. He sighed. Hopefully that bastard son of his can finally prove his usefulness and give him countermeasures or he might retract his favor from him.

……………………

Jin Guangyao’s first thought upon seeing Wei Wuxian ascend was: Oh shit. I have to go make up new plans to help Father.

He knew his father wanted Wei Wuxian and the Seal and didn’t really care how he obtained both or either, just as long as no one traced it back to him. He sighed. This was going to be a big headache. But at least the plans on putting his father as Chief Cultivator were going smoothly. He could only imagine what his father would do to him if even this failed.

..............................

Wen Qing had still been in Yiling, making plans to relocate her family, when the news that Wei Wuxian had ascended had reached her.

Her first reaction was, That’s impossible.

Because it was, right? Wen Qing should know. She cut out his core, after all. But to think he was still able to ascend while he was a demonic cultivator made her wonder what the requirements were for ascending. Perhaps it’s an honest heart? Self-sacrificing tendencies? Or is it a sacrifice of some sorts? She paused. What if.....it was a trial? To test a person’s will? What Wei Wuxian had suffered was.....horrible. Could it have all been just a test from the Heavens?

If that was so, the Heavens really are cru--- 

“A’ Jie, we have to go! Some Jin were spotted nearby!”

Wen Qing gritted her teeth. Members of the branch families of Qishan, regardless of whether they were innocent or not, were captured and subsequently tortured to death by the Jin and sometimes the Nie. Because her family was all in Yiling, they were safe.......but only for now. They had to hurry and escape.

Wen Qing sent a quick prayer to Wei Wuxian, hoping for her family’s safety, and tucked the rest of her belongings in her qiankun pouch, remembering to wrap her arms in bandages to hide the needles she might need to paralyze any Jin that came close.

....................................

Wei Wuxian’s first thought when he landed in the Heavens was, What the fuck.

Then he looked around and looked taken aback and wary at the unfamiliar faces around him. Where the fuck am I?

“Hello.” A rather stoic-faced man greeted.

“Hello.” Wei Wuxian parroted back. The person in front of him didn’t seem to be a threat so he felt a little tension loosen from his shoulders. “Um, Xiansheng? I’m afraid I don’t know where I am?”

“You have just ascended.” The man replied, throwing Wei Wuxian aback.

“Are you pulling my leg?” Wei Wuxian asked. “How is that even possible! I don’t even have---” He swallowed. I don’t even have a core.

“I do not lie. Come, we are wasting time. We must get you washed up and dressed for the induction ceremony.” Seeing Wei Wuxian still frozen, the man sighed, signalled for some people to pick Wei Wuxian up and dragged the struggling man to some quarters.

After absentmindedly washing, drying and changing himself, Wei Wuxian noticed some differences in his body. He wasn’t....cold or hurting anymore. And - he touched his back - he could feel his back! After having his muscles and nerves shredded by Zidian, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sense touch on his back or even move without pain! But now he can!

He heard the urging of some people and grumbled.

“You will become a god of demonic cultivation.” Was the first thing he heard when he stepped out of the room.

Wei Wuxian choked. “Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said. Now then, if you would please concentrate, you should be able to hear the prayers of the people below.”

Wei Wuxian felt like everything was moving a little too fast for him, but nevertheless complied. Immediately after, a flood of prayers hit him at full force.

“Wei Wuxian!” That was Jiang Cheng! “….Have some fun up there.”

“A’ Xian, do be well. Shijie isn’t there to take care of you so do be well.” Wei Wuxian refused to cry.

“Wei-Xiong! I hope there’s someone up there to supply you with you know what *winks*”

How does someone even wink in their prayers? Wei Wuxian thought amusedly.

“Wei Ying.” That was Lan Zhan. “Wei Ying, I will—be well.”

Ah, Lan Zhan. Always concise even in your thoughts.

Wei Wuxian was a little teary. As much as he was glad to not be a part of the cultivation world considering all the rumors, he did regret leaving behind those that cared for him.

That thought was much more cemented upon hearing…….

“Ah, Lord Wei, the pinnacle of evil, the role model of all demonic cultivators!” Wei Wuxian’s eye twitched. “Please hear my plea for more power! I need it, I need it to destroy everyone who harmed me!”

“Wei Wuxian, I wish to gain power over resentful energy so that I may tear my enemies limb by limb!

“Give me money! You’re a god, aren’t you? Be useful for once and give me some gold!”

“Tch. If I’m going to pray for anything, then it’ll have to be the Seal. You’re a god, now, right? So you have no need for the Seal. Just give it up.”

No matter the good or bad, Wei Wuxian heard the wishes and prayers of the people down below and while some were innocent enough, there were those that wished for death, destruction, tools for torture, power, money, women…….you name it.

It made Wei Wuxian feel a little disgusted with humanity. He cut off his focus from the bad and focused on the prayer he received from his friends and family.

“Wei Wuxian, I heard you became a god.” It was Wen Qing. He hadn’t heard her voice in a long time. “I know this might seem shameless of me after all I did to you, but please. Please guarantee the safety of my family. We’re being hunted down and—”

Her prayer was abruptly cut off, before coming back in full force with notes of desperation. Her family had been captured and taken to Qiongqi Path! Wei Wuxian panicked. He didn’t know how to escape from this place and try to go help her.

The…..person who was watching over him evidently knew what he was thinking about and merely stated that gods cannot interfere with the mortal realm. So he was stuck.

But that didn’t mean he was out of options.

It took a few days, but he managed to wheedle out how to help: via dreams. He merely needed to get into the mind of one of his followers and tell them to help. Much like those prophetic dreams Wei Wuxian had read about as a kid.

So he buckled down, thinking of the best candidate to help him.

……………………………

Lan Wangji looked at the landscape around him and concluded that he was dreaming. Though, it was a little odd that he was aware that he was dreaming. Not that he hasn’t realized he was dreaming before - especially in those many fantasies he had of Wei Ying - but to be aware that this is a dream and to see nothing but a flat landscape was pretty out of the ordinary. 

Anyway, he digressed. What was going on?

“Uhh, Lan Zhan? Can you hear me?”

“W-Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji couldn’t be blamed for stuttering. He wasn’t expecting this!

“Phew. Oh good, you can hear me. Anyway, Lan Zhan, I gotta be quick about this because I’m kinda sorta bending the rules here, but do you think you can go to Qiongqi Path and rescue Wen Qing and her family?”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Just like that? Not even going to ask me for a reason, er-gege?”

Lan Wangji’s ears flushed red at the address. “If Wei Ying wants to save them, you must have a good reason. That’s enough for me.”

“Ah, Hanguang-Jun.” The title was spoken fondly. “Always so good. I’ll tell you anyway. Wen Qing and her family sheltered Jiang Cheng and I after Lotus Pier fell and even brought back Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s bodies! That’s a debt I cannot repay.”

“I understand. I will help.”

He couldn’t see Wei Ying, but could practically feel the amusement from him.

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?”

“Are......Are you well?”

“Of course I am. I’m actually feeling so much better than before.” Wei Ying grumbled, “I’m not even in pain anymore.”

“You were in pain?” Lan Wangji asked worriedly. “Wei Ying, why didn’t you say anything.”

“Lan Zhan, there was nothing you or anyone else could do to alleviate my pain. It doesn’t matter now. I’m okay.”

Lan Wangji was still worried and wanted to speak to him more, but---

“Ah! Looks like my time’s up!” Wei Ying exclaimed cheerfully as the dreamscape wavered. “See you, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji nodded. “See you, Wei Ying.” I’ll catch up to you soon.

.

.

.

And 13 years later, Lan Wangji kept his promise.

___________________

I didn’t edit this so I’m hoping there’s not too many grammatical errors lol. 

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan qiren #jin guangshan #jin guangyao #lan zhan #lan wangji #wen remnants #wen remnants survive #JGS and JGY can no longer scheme against WWX :) #LQR is kinda an asshole #but at least he sorta admits it? #hurt wei wuxian #implied chronic pain

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Divine Impossibilities

My Secret Santa gift fic for @badwolften! It’s my first time writing Talianette and I hope it’s ok!

Prompts: Talinette “Mari kidnaps Talia away from the League”

Ao3

Humans were born greedy. They took anything, whether it was within their reach or in another’s hands. They created rules to govern land that they had no dominion over.

But it should’ve been impossible to kill a god.

She remembered the day they walked in with the corpse. A small procession of monks walked up the stairs and through the courtyard, they bowed before Ra. The leader of the monks was dressed in a red robe and his followers were in slate blue; each had on white stockings with flat black shoes that crisscrossed up to their knees. A casket was placed in between them.

She followed her father as they walked up to the casket, two steps behind, of course, he was the leader of the League of Assassins. Through the glass lid, they saw a young woman, approximately around Talia’s age.

Her dark lashes brushed against her ghostly pale skin. A head of navy hair washed over the casket’s white interior. She had a small frame, her torso was wrapped in white bands and cloaked in a red polka dot kimono. At first, the girl was a perfect porcelain doll, but Talia couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Dried trails of blood ran down her neck. They were like cracks in her smooth skin, crevasses of hidden trauma that lay beneath her skin. The source came from her ears, where two stone ladybugs seem to have bitten into the flesh of her lobes.

They lowered her body into the pit. Her body wasn’t destined for a dirt burial, where she could finally be in peace. The toxic glow of green was one she was familiar with, she had even been in the girl’s place before. Whoever that girl was before, she is long gone; when someone comes back they become different.

It should’ve been impossible to create a god.

And even more impossible to turn it into your personal soldier.

Talia huffed from behind her black mask as she pushed Marinette to kneel before Ra, ‘what was so good about a disobedient god? They had given her back life and this is how they were repaid?’

Marinette got the praise when the mission went well. Marinette’s words become prophetic when her assumption became fact. Marinette got the attention that Talia deserved as the heir. She didn’t even have to use her powers.

“—I won’t let innocent people be harmed to further the influence of your regime.” Ra’s arm shot forward, grasping her chin in his hand, he left indentations on her skin where he squeezed.

“Even a deity like you,” he spat, “Will one day learn that this world isn’t worth redemption.”

The Goddess didn’t let him get far before sniping back, “That’s rich coming from the leader of a declining assassin organisation.”

“I am a King!” Ra al Ghul boomed, his voice echoing through the courtyard, maybe ever down the valley of mountains.

Marinette stood up and stared directly into his eyes grinning. She had gotten what she wanted in the end. “And I am a god.” She turned and walked towards her chambers, the chains that bound her legs became nothing more than shreds of ribbons. Without pausing, she glanced over her shoulder back at the fuming old man. “The mighty all fall eventually.”

The sliding paper shoji door closed but the footsteps didn’t come any closer.

“Have you made your decision yet?”

The Goddess turned around to face the speaker, tilting her head with a playful smirk as she gazed upon their scowling face. Talia’s hands were clenched. Her mask had been dragged down to her neck without care and her dark green eyes were piercing.

She huffed when Marinette didn’t reply, shooting a glare at her. “Either stay and become the league’s powerhouse or leave. We don’t need you being in between staying and going, it doesn’t hurt us but it doesn’t help us either. You’ve slowed our progression into stagnation and my father won’t get rid of you due to your potential.”

Marinette’s smile widened showing her white teeth, her eyes glowed at the predicament they were in. Staying and sabotaging or leaving and living. “What do you think I should do princess?”

She never respected Ra as the King of Assassins but acknowledged his daughter as the heir. That’s bound to ruffle some feathers.

“I want you gone. I want you to stop your games, stop your schemes.” Her eyes fluttered cased as she released a frustrated sigh.

She realised her mistake when she opened her eyes again. She was met with iridescent blue eyes. Marinette had tiptoed towards her, stopping inches away from her face. Ever since the bluenette was revived she remained barefooted. She refused the flats the monks gave her; it was the only time Talia had ever seen her show anything but indifference.

For the first time, Talia bore witnesses to Marinette’s genuine smile. It was small but real.

“Is that all you want?” Do gods need to breathe? Because it looked like Marinette was holding her breath I wait of Talia’s reply. The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, one wary, the other seemed melancholic but the widening silence.

“I-I, yes.” When had she ever stuttered before? Marinette’s lips quirked down into a pout. Talia was no empath, but she knew that what she said upset the Goddess before her. Her hooded eyes stared at the beauty before her. “What do you want?” Talia whispered.

“You.”

Her eyes shot open as she flung herself back, part of her brown hair fell into her face. “What?” She spluttered as she tried desperately to clean herself up. “Why would you want that?”

Her nails tore at the skin of her palms as her knuckles turned white. “I’ve been horrible to you all this time, on purpose,” she spat “to push you away. Why do you keep coming back?” Talia stared at the floor guilt consuming her.

Marinette strolled forwards again, closing the distance. Talia flinched as her hand caressed her cheek, but didn’t move away. “Sometimes—“ Marinette stared at the girl’s lips, brushing her finger along them, moving her lower lip down ever so slightly. “Having just one woman on your side is equal to ten men.”

“On my side?”

“Yes. What do you want Talia?”

“I want you to stay.” Her voice broke into sobs. Marinette hugged her into her chest to muffle her cries. The goddess comforted the assassin with swaying and slow back strokes.

“I can’t stay, you just told me to leave.”

“Then…” she paused processing the thoughts the begged to be voiced. Her eyes became determined, “take me with you.”

Marinette lowered her head to where the brunette was curled into her robes and pressed a peck into her lips. “I had only stayed for you.”

Before Talia could even begin to process a pair of glasses found their way onto her nose. A floating horse appeared on the goddess’ shoulder. Marinette clutched Talia’s hands in between her own, “Say Giddy up.”

“What? Giddy up?” Light ran across her, a brown and black suit ran from her fingertips up to her neck and then down to her toes. Talia’s head felt tighter as her hair was gathered in a ponytail.

“Voyage time, ma biche.”

Marinette flung them through the portal upon the utterance of the phrase. They landed in an empty street, Marinette took the glasses back before they entered the crowd.

“That was a miraculous right? We’ve been looking for them for months.” Talia hurriedly whispered.

“I know.”

“You had them this whole time, right? That’s why we never found them. And anyone’s we did were unusable.”

They entered a hostel and acquired a private room.

“This whole thing was one big game,” Talia whispered. Whether it was to herself or an accusation, she herself didn’t even know. “What did you gain from all this?”

“You. Godship too but mainly you.”

“You weren’t like this before?” Talia trailed as hand down the smaller woman’s chest, she felt the indentation where Monk Lama pierced her heart. Maybe that’s white her skin was always a perfect shade of alabaster, she could blend into the snow and never be found.

Talia once again saw her, not as a god, but as a doll. Marinette told her of her past, the contracts she made with these gods, who she now knew as Kwamis, and how when she died, she fused with the Kwami of Creation Tikki. Marinette was a girl that they tried to turn into a toy soldier.

It is impossible to control a god.

But is it impossible to love one?

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #Talia x Marinette #Marinette x Talia #talianette #Talinette #Marinette the Goddess of Creation #ooc Talia al Ghul

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Wake up sleepy head

Scorbus prompt from @abi-the-gay (sorry if I missed any details). Albus sneaks off to Malfoy Manor after a nightmare, and he and Scorpius get caught by Draco walking in on them asleep together the next morning.

A flash of green light exploded in front of Albus’s eyes, and her face... her face grinned right back at him.

She was holding something, no... someone. Her arms were wrapped around a blonde boy, long fingers creeping towards his neck, like vines. Scorpius. She had Scorpius. Albus tried to scream, to yell, to call out Scorpius’s name, but no sound came out. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t stop her from pulling out her wand and pressing it to Scorpius’s temple. Albus looked into the boy’s grey eyes, desperate and pleading. And all he could do was watch.

“Avada Kedavra!” Another flash of green light bursting into his bedroom as Albus suddenly lay awake, panting, sweating, terrified.

Scorpius. Where was Scorpius? Everything Albus had seen had felt so real, so vivid. His stomach dropped as he had the sudden, awful thought: what if it was real?

He sat up in bed, his mind running at a mile an hour. He had to see Scorpius. Now. Sending a letter would take too long. He wanted to see his... he wanted to see Scorpius.

It was still late, dark out. Everyone was fast asleep. No one would notice if he snuck downstairs and used the floo network to visit Malfoy Manor.

Albus didn’t risk turning the lights on; he knew his house like the back of his hand, so he managed to reach the living room fireplace with little mishap. Albus took a handful of floo powder from the pot beside the stokers. The fire had long since died out, but the coals were still hot enough for the powder to work.

“Malfoy Manor!” Albus instructed, as loudly as he could without alerting the rest of the house, which still left his voice barely above a whisper. He hoped he wouldn’t get splinched on the way there.

Green flames erupted around him, and he had to close his eyes; too reminiscent of his nightmare. Of Delphi. Of Scorpius.

Before he knew it, he was thrown out the other side of the floo network, regaining his balance on the polished floor of Malfoy Manor. It was dark. Quiet. Was that a good sign? Or a bad sign? Albus wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out or not.

But he had to. He couldn’t leave without making sure Scorpius was alright.

And that’s when he suddenly realised: he had no idea where Scorpius’s bedroom was. And it was a big house. He could be searching all night.

Albus began on the next floor up, up the large, winding staircase. The first few rooms were rather sparse, uninhabited, and one of them- which made Albus hold his breath upon entering- was Draco’s room. Albus closed the door behind him as silently as he could.

He stood for a moment and pondered his next move, soon spotting a door at the far end of the hallway. As he drew nearer, he noticed some sort of trinket hanging from the doorknob, a kind of lucky charm perhaps. Scorpius was relatively superstitious. This must have been his room.

Albus slowly opened the door, his heart beating faster in trepidation at what he might find. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a figure underneath the covers of a bed, in the middle of the room.

“Scorpius?” Called Albus in a whisper. “Scorp!”

The figure moved, turned around, and switched on the oil lamp beside his bed. The light illuminated the faces of the two boys, and Albus was so relieved to see Scorpius alive and well- if a little perplexed- that he almost started shaking. Scorpius noticed his slightly panicked disposition.

“Albus, what are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Scorpius was clearly concerned, and Albus felt bad for waking him up. Of course it was just a dream, you idiot.

“I’m sorry, I just... I just had to make sure you were okay.”

“Another nightmare?” Albus nodded. Scorpius moved over and opened up the covers.

“Do you want to stay?” He asked, and Albus gladly accepted, thankful that Scorpius didn’t ask anymore questions, such as how he had got there or what the nightmare was about. He simply let Albus snuggle up beside him and settle into his arms, exhaustion washing over both of them.

“I can read if you want?” Scorpius suggested, a murmur in Albus’s ear.

“That would be nice.” Scorpius reached over Albus to pick up a book from his bedside table.

“It’s a muggle book,” Scorpius explained. “Rose sent it to me a few weeks ago. I’m already halfway through, but I’ll start again from the beginning.” Albus tried to listen, really he did, but as soon as Scorpius started speaking, his soft, calm voice meeting Albus’s ear, Albus immediately felt his eyes start to close.

“This Side of Paradise, by F. Scott Fitzgerald,” began Scorpius, and within moments, Albus was fast asleep.

————

The following morning, Draco was sat at the dining table in his dressing gown, sipping his morning coffee and reading the Daily Prophet. He was about to check on Scorpius, thinking it odd that his son wasn’t up yet. Scorpius was usually awake way before him, a morning person through and through.

Draco finished his coffee, folded up the newspaper, and began his ascent up the flight of stairs towards Scorpius’s room. Reaching Scorpius’s door, he knocked lightly, receiving no reply. Draco was starting to get worried now, so he allowed himself to enter.

His son wasn’t alone.

Scorpius opened his eyes as he entered, and froze. He tried to nudge awake the sleeping figure beside him.

“Al. Albus, wake up,” he whispered frantically. Albus? Thought Draco. Albus Potter? Albus groaned lightly, and mumbled something inaudible. Never had Draco felt so awkward in his life, and he coughed nervously, finally alerting the boy beside Scorpius.

Albus turned around- and Draco could see that it was indeed Albus Potter- and immediately turned back, facing away from Draco and burying his face in Scorpius’s chest, muttering something about not being able to deal with anything today.

“Dad, I can explain...” Scorpius began, but Draco interjected.

“How about I leave you two for a moment and you can explain downstairs.” Scorpius nodded gratefully, and Draco left the two in peace, heading back to the dining room and trying to process what he’d just seen.

————

Ten minutes later, and two fifteen year old boys were sitting awkwardly in front of Draco, both of them avoiding eye contact with him.

“So...” Draco began. “Are you two...?” He sort of gestured between the two of them, hoping they’d fill in the blanks.

“We’re together,” confirmed Scorpius.

“Right...” Draco didn’t know how to feel. He wanted to be supportive of his son of course, but a Potter and a Malfoy? Who would have thought it? It would certainly take some time to wrap his head around the idea.

“So that means you’re...”

“Gay?” Draco nodded. “Yeah, I am...” Scorpius finally made eye contact with his father, and Draco noted how terrified he looked.

“Alright. That’s fine, Scorp. I love you no matter what.” Scorpius looked at him disbelievingly, which sent a pang of hurt through Draco’s chest.

“Really?” He asked, hopefully.

“Of course! You’re my son, and I’m proud of you.” Scorpius smiled at him, clearly relieved.

“So how did you two... how did you two become a thing?”

“Oh, um...” Albus coughed nervously.

“Well, it was after the whole Delphi thing,” began Scorpius. “You see we... we had a lot of nightmares, and we would calm each other down.” Scorpius fiddled with his sleeves.

“Is that why Albus was here?” Prompted Draco. They both nodded in unison.

“Yeah, and we’d read to each other,” Albus continued. “Stuff that Rose would get from the library and lend to Scorpius.”

“And I suppose it just went from there. Started out as platonic, and... became romantic.”

“So you both knew you liked each other?” Draco knew he was being too personal, but this was the first time Scorpius had ever really opened up to him, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

“I liked Scorpius, because he was nice to me, especially when I’d fallen out with dad.”

“And I saw Albus shirtless once, and I just knew-” Albus snorted, immediately stifling a laugh. Scorpius too was holding in a smile. Draco just raised his eyebrows, letting the two have their own inside joke, before continuing.

“Well, you both have my blessing,” Draco concluded. “Thank you for telling me Scorpius. Even if you didn’t have much of a choice.” Scorpius nodded in acknowledgement. “And, Albus. I take it your parents don’t know where you are?” Albus suddenly remembered what time it was, and his eyes widened.

“No, you’re right. I need to get back.”

“I’ll see you off,” said Scorpius. They all stood up. Albus left the room to return to the fireplace in the living room, leaving Scorpius and Draco alone for a moment.

“Your mother would be proud too, you know,” said Draco, his voice softer than before. Scorpius looked at him, grey eyes meeting grey. Draco hadn’t even noticed that they were almost the same height now. How had that happened?

“You really think so?”

“Of course. All she wanted was for you to be happy. And I take it you are?” Scorpius nodded.

“I am. Really.”

“Then she would be proud.” Scorpius smiled, paused for a second, and then closed the gap between them. For a few moments, they hugged in silence. Unfamiliar, but nice. Draco was glad to have his son back.

#scorbus #scorbus prompt #scorbus oneshot #harry potter #albus x scorpius #oneshot

[just-my-fandom]

Hermano (Oscar Diaz x Martinez! Reader)

Request; Hi! I was hoping I could be your first on my block request! But, I wanna request something where the reader is dating Oscar and is Ruby’s older sister, and during olivias quince reader notices Latrelle in the hood, and when he pulls out the gun, the reader tries to protect Ruby? You can chose if she lives or not. Suuuper angsty

Request 2; I was wondering if you can do a Oscar Diaz x reader request ??? Please can it be fluff. I don’t mind any story line just surprise me😊😊😊

Warning(s); Mentions of blood. Being shot. Trauma.

Translation; Fećil- easy. Vaso- glass. Mija- daughter. maravillosa- gorgeous.

. . .

First, you were yelling for Ruby. He insisted on you sharing a siblings dance, as the last time you actually got to dance with him was at your own quince, but that had been years ago.

Then, you’re forcing Ruby to spin ninety degrees so your back is facing the hooded figure, who you instantly recognized as Latrelle, the man who had pulled a gun on you and your boyfriends brother, Cesar, nights before.

By the time, time could catch back up to you, the bullet had already pierced your upper shoulder, and sent your mother, Geny, into a state of panic, her screams the only thing in your ears when you collapsed.

“Mija!” Geny forced herself up to her feet and ran across the dance floor, dropping to her knees beside Ruby, her hands trembling as they fidgeted on where to grab, “Mija! Mija, baby-,”

“Someone call 911!” Your father shouts, but they almost fall on deaf ears, “Call 911!”

“Call Oscar!” Ruby looks over his shoulder, gaze frantic before they land on Cesar, “Now!”

“Mija!” Geny pleas, your teary eyes shifting up to her, when her hands slide to your face, desperately, “Stay with me, okay? Baby, my baby!”

“Mama,” You murmur, Geny nodding, not looking away even after hearing sirens,

“Mamas here. I’m here, mija,”

“Mama,” Your eyes pinch shut at the sudden pain in your back, crying out, “Ruby. I-is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s okay,” Your father heaves, eyes glossy, “You did a good job. You did such a good job, mija,”

Your heaving chest slows, Genys desperate yells fading as your eyes finally remained shut, grip on Cesars hand falling limp,

Present

A week after New Years, Geny stands at the kitchen sink, silently washing the sink full of dishes in front of her, almost not acknowledging the figure that steps up beside her, fearing it was Amber, Mario’s pregnant girlfriend,

“Are you mad at me, mama?” Your voice pulls her out of her trance, her eyes shifting to you, your arm that wasn’t in the sling picking up a clean dish to dry,

“Of course not, Mija,” Geny sets down the bowl back into the soapy water, turning to face you so your eyes shyly met hers,

“But you’re mad at Oscar,” You point out, your mother sighing and closing her eyes, hand propped on the sinks counter,

“I’m upset about the Santos dragging my daughter into their rivalry,” She corrects, and you set down the clean plate, body facing her,

“Mama, the Santos protect me. With Oscar as their leader, they’d never let me in harms way,”

“Oh yeah?” Geny hums, eyebrow raised, “Look how that went,”

“Mama,” You plea, eyes glossy, “Oscar and the Santos had no part in the shooting. It was a irritable Prophet trying to get his point across,”

“Well he did,” Geny hisses, narrowed eyes softening when the kitchen light gleams in your eyes, “Mija, you’ll only understand when you have your own children. You, Mario, Ruben, the twins; you’re all my beautiful blessings,”

You smile, weakly, when Genys hand grazes your cheek, “From the moment you took your first breath,” A small crack in Genys voice pulls your lips into a frown, “From what could have been your last, I just want you and your brothers and sister safe,”

“I just need you to trust Oscar as much as you trust me,” You whisper, blinking away the burn in your eyes, “And I know that feeling,”

Genys brows pinch in confusion,

“When I saw that Prohet with the gun,” You recite, sucking in a deep breath, “Ruby was the only person in that moment. I had this sudden swarm of urgency to protect him, because he, and Olivia, were in the line of danger,”

Your face twists at the sudden wave of emotions that hit you, “But I couldn’t protect Olivia, mama, and the more I think about it, the more guilty I feel because Ruby has to go on without the girl he loved,”

“Mija,” Geny whispers, arm reaching out to slide around your shoulders, “Bebe, you are a hero, understand?”

“How am I a hero when I let Olivia die?” You whimper, your head sucking down into her shoulder so Geny tangled a hand in your hair, shushing you, softly,

“I trust him, Mija,” Geny whispers, thumb brushing over the side of your head, gently, “He is your familia, and any familia of yours is apart of mine,” She leans back, hands at your shoulders, “But it’s going to take time for me to fully believe he is the right man for you,”

You press your lips together, nodding, letting Geny press her lips to your forehead, and squeeze your shoulders,

“Hey, Y/N?” You pull away in time for Ruby to stick his head in the kitchen entranceway, his eyes snapping between you, and Geny wiping her cheek, “Bad time?”

“No,” You copy Genys actions, sniffling, “What’s up?”

“Uh, the school called. They’re looking for volunteers for the Valentines Dance. Do you maybe wanna chaperone?” Ruby holds up his phone, and you glance at Geny, eyebrows raised,

“What’s in it for me?”

Ruby pauses, tapping his chin, “You get free food and drinks?”

You mock his pause, sharing a smile with your mother at the interaction, “I’m in. Get me an application form,”

“Yes!” Ruby thanks you, then darts to his room.

“I’m proud of you, Mija,” Geny murmurs, and you look back up at her, smiling as a sign of thanks, “Go have fun,”

. . .

Fun. Funny. You haven’t heard that word in months. It definitely wasn’t what you were having right now.

You discretely remember the song playing the night of Olivias quince. Other than your mothers screaming, it had been the only thing you heard before you passed out.

You never thought you’d have such a negative reaction to a song. But as it played loudly through the speakers at the Valentines Dance, all you saw was the blood, all you could hear was the screams of fear from Olivia, shouting for you as you laid near her,

“Y/N!” Ruby’s sudden voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hands grabbing at your wrists, and you now realize your hands are tight in your hair, and your breaths are uneven,

“Come on!” He orders, loudly over the music that blasted above you. He drags you towards the doorway of the gym, Monse suddenly beside you.

You drop down onto the steps of your brothers high school, gasps becoming wheezed as Cesar dropped to a squat in front of you, “What happened?”

“The song,” Monse answers, “It’s the same one from the night everything happened,”

“I’m so sorry Ruby,” Your arms slide around said boys shoulders, his own comfortingly wrapping at your dressed hips, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect her,”

“I’m gonna call Spooky,” Cesar stands up, Monse squeezing your arm before following Cesar back inside, briefly explaining the situation to a confused Jasmin,

You sniffle, cheek resting on top of Ruby’s head, focusing on his regular breathing to match your own, “I’m sorry, buddy,”

“You don’t have you be sorry,” Ruby answers, instantly, squeezing your hip when Jasmin seats herself as your other side,

“But I do,” You mutter, voice weak as your eyes pinch shut, “I could’ve protected you both from that Prophet. But I didn’t. And it’s in my conscience that I let Olivia get hit by that bullet,”

Ruby slides his hand up your back in a soothing motion, allowing your hand to tangle in his hair for your own comfort,

“I know you don’t want to talk to me, Spooky,” Cesar runs a hand down his face, eyes firm on Monse standing in front of him, patiently, “But I’m not calling for my own entertainment,”

“Then why the hell are you?” Oscar grunts, Cesar clenching his jaw at his brothers harsh attitude.

“It’s Y/N,” A moments pause, “She’s freaking out and you and Ruby are the only ones able to calm her down. But I don’t think Ruby can hold her steady for much longer,”

“Where are you?”

“The school dance,”

“And why the hell is Y/N with you?” Oscar growls, and Cesar can hear the distant slamming of his car door,

“She was chaperoning!” Cesar protests, almost as if Oscar was setting the blame on him, “They started playing the song that was playing the night of the quinceañera, we took her outside for air,”

“I’m on my way,” Oscar hangs up with a dull click, Cesar dropping his arm to heave a sigh, almost instantly hearing the loud roar of Oscars vehicle,

“Well that was quick,” Monse mumbles, peering out the door to see Jasmine stand up and step away from you, when Oscar rolls down the window to his car, your eyes shifting to look up at him,

“Hey mamas,” He calls, your lips pulling only slightly at the nickname, “C’mon, we’re going for a ride,”

“But the dance,” You murmur, glancing down at Ruby, who shakes his head and smiles,

“Go. I’ll tell the principle we had a family emergency or something,”

You nod, pulling him into you for a small embrace, before you push to stand up, pulling off your heels before climbing into the front seat of the vehicle,

“I’ll make sure to have her home by curfew,” Oscar winks, and you roll your eyes, watching Ruby copy your action and wave effortlessly, turning to following his friends back inside,

Four beats of silence fills the car halfway down the street, your hand mindlessly pulls at the bandages at your shoulder, which itched your skin more than the dress you wore,

“What’s on your mind?” Oscar finally questions, gaze leaving the road to look at you, legs pulled to your chest and eyes straight ahead. His hand not on the wheel touches your thigh, pulling back slightly at your tense flinch, waiting for you to relax before settling his hand back in its place,

“I’m seeing it again,” You speak, voice quiet, “That prophet, Olivia, me being in the hospital,”

Oscar draws his thumb across the skin of your thigh lightly, glancing at you when the car is stopped by a red light, “You know that’s all over,”

“It doesn’t matter, Oscar,” You lift a shoulder, turning your head so you were looking back at him, “You’re used to the gunshots and the different sides. I’m not. Watching my brother almost get shot, watching Olivia get shot, it’s traumatized me, as much as I fucking hate to admit it,”

“Faćil, mamas,” Oscar squeezes your thigh, car rolling to a complete stop just outside of the neighborhood you lived in, “You know I’m always gonna protect you. You’ve went through some shit, I get that. But you’re a strong ass woman, and you’re gonna let some song deflate you?”

“No,” You murmur, glancing down at where you finally stopped picking at your bandage and dropped your hand into your lap, “I’m just tired of everyone treating me like I’m vaso,”

“Then you gotta show everyone that that Prophet don’t mean shit,” Oscar orders, and you smile, shaking your head,

“How can you be so demanding yet therapeutic at the same time?”

“I’m just like that, maravillosa,” Oscar grins, ignoring your teasing roll of eyes as you sit up, glancing out to the road in front of you,

“Take me back to your place?” You murmur, Oscar chuckling as his hand slides up to grip the hemming of your dress,

“Don’t gotta ask twice,”

#oscar diaz #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz one shot #on my block #on my block x reader #ruby martinez #ruby martinez x reader #ruby martinez one shot #ruby martinez imagine

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Seven Devils

AO3  <<<Previous 

Day 7

You woke up to the smell of burning. The cold floor you had fallen asleep on was beginning to warm, indicating how hot the inferno had gotten. You quickly got up, grabbing the rosary and the dagger on your way to the door. Gathering all your strength you gave the door a hard kick, the rotting wood crumbling away and giving you the space to get out of your little prison. Immediately your hit with the heat, it was as if you had opened an oven while at its hottest, making your eyes water a little. You bolted down the corridor towards the dorms, you hoped everyone had gotten out by now. Bursting into the room you tried to wake all your classmates in the room. No one would wake. It was as if everyone was under a spell. This wasn’t a good sign.

The smell of burning got stronger, the heat rising. The heartbeat you had heard all week got lounder, its thrumming seeming to echo into the deepest parts of your mind, all consuming.  

You knew what you had to do, to finish this once and for all. You ran out of the room, towards the courtyard. An axe was leaned against one of the arches, you took it. The heartbeat got louder the closer you got to the tree. You could feel it in the bottoms of your feet as you stood before it. You took a deep breath, before swinging the axe into the tree.

It bled.

The sap was a dark crimson but that didn’t stop you. Crows had surrounded you, pecking and diving at you but it was as if you were possessed, swinging the axe until the tree fell backwards. You dropped the axe and fell to your knees, breathing wildly in exhaustion. You could feel the sap on your bare knees, the stickiness making your skin crawl. You finally turned your attention to the stump. You could see the box in the cavity, snakes forming a defence around it. They hissed as your hands reached towards it. You paid them no mind, using your own hands to uncoil them from the box.

You finally held the box in your hands. Your hands vibrating with the pulse inside. You pulled your rosary from around your neck, placing it in the cavity. It clicked in place, moving the mechanics of the lock system. The lid creaked open slowly.

You gagged at the contents, but they were exactly what you expected. You pulled it out and discarded the box. You held Michael Langdon’s beating heart in the palms of your hands. You sat and stared at it, mesmerised by the organ pulsing without a body.

The sound of falling, burning timber finally snapped you out of your daze. You had to act fast. The only way to end this would be to burn his heart at the altar. You got up and ran towards the burning half of the building. It hadn’t reached the dorms yet, but you had to act fast.

The heat inside the building was unbearable, you were surrounded by flames from all sides. The smoke tickling your throat and making you cough.

The door to the chapel had been burned away. The flames slowly crawling towards the alter but you still had time. The holy candles were still burning. Your vision started to blur as you walked closer to the marble. Your movements became staggered. With shaky hands, you finally placed the heart into the paten. A few pieces of communion bread still in the vessel. You emptied out the little bottle of anointing oil into it, just for good measure. You staggered towards the candle, moving was becoming harder. The wax dripped onto your hand as you moved it towards the paten. With the last of your strength, you brought the flame down to catch the oil.

The paten burst into a violent flame, throwing you onto your back. A black smoke filled the room, clouding your vision and filling your lungs. You moved to your hands and knees, coughing violently. You would have screamed if you could breathe. The floor was crawling with snakes. They slithered over your hands and ankles. You finally raised your head to look at the source, the alter. The smoke had begun to clear up. The silhouette of a tall man could be seen. He began to slowly step forward.

You saw his blue eyes first. So familiar, yet the rage inside them made your skin crawl. You looked down in fear, watching his shoes move closer. The fine leather was right in front of you now. The smell of cinnamon assaulting your senses. He squatted down to you. His ringed hand painfully gripped your chin, moving your head to finally make eye contact with him.

It was the face that had haunted your dreams for the past six nights, grinning at you.

“My my Y/N why is it when we meet, you are always on your knees?” You whimpered in reply. This isn’t how you planned it. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

The screams of women broke through your thoughts.

Your friends.

The fire must have travelled.

You tried to move towards them, but Michael had his feet on your hands. Crushing them and keeping you in place. “Let go of me!” you cried out, feeling like your bones would snap at any minute. Michael just snarled, grabbing you by your neck and throwing you onto the hot marble. You hissed at the feeling. “I can assure you; the fires of hell are much worse than this.” Your dream flashed through your mind. You tried to reach for the blade you carried, but Michael quickly took it out of your hand, snapping your wrist in the process. “This ended differently last time. I won’t let it happen again,” he growled. You looked up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. The heat made the paint of the frescoes melt into grotesque images; the screams of your peers seemed to get louder. “Music to my ears,” Michael said, closing his eyes and relishing in the heat and pain. “How?” was the only thing you could choke out. He reached over to the candles, holding it so you could see the base. Some sort of demonic seal was stamped into the wax. “Not a single holy candle has burned in this chapel since I took over all those years ago. No one’s ever checked,” he shrugged.

The screaming finally stopped. You knew what it meant, a sob shaking your body. The symbols and scripture carved into the arches and ceiling of the convent were never meant to protect. The realisation washing over your face. Father Langdon only laughed, as if he had been told the funniest joke. “If only people still valued prophetic dreams like they did back then. But I won’t give you the privilege of being a martyr this time St Maria Y/N,” he sang the last part.

His nails had turned claw-like, tearing straight through the fabric of your clothing. Leaving you bare on the burning alter before him. You were sure the smell of burning flesh was from you.

The timber of the chapel began to collapse around you, always narrowly missing you. His hand finally let go of your neck, leaving a collar of bruises behind. His hands ran up and down your body, pinching and groping every inch. The events of tonight had left you paralysed and numb to everything.

“Let me help you fully enjoy the sin of lust this time. God has no use for your body now.”

The heat had gotten to you, you could no longer fight to stay awake. You let your eyes shut, the sound of laughing being the last thing you heard.

////

Fire destroys historic convent of St. Maria Y/N, again: No survivors. One missing

////

The fire spread through the world. Two lifetimes worth of memories kept you quiet most of the time. You could only cry. The blond man just laughed.

AN: Thank you all for reading, finally another story done! I’m not sure if im totally happy with the ending but i hope it was good enough for my readers! Until next time!

#My writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #SD7

[justakpopfic]

On the Final New Moon-chapter 3

Summary: You learn more about Seonghwa...

Genre: demon!au, angst? Suggestive?? Idk anymore but Seonghwa’s a demon.

Masterlist / Next

~~~

The next day with Seonghwa being the new king of your kingdom was harder than expected. You had cried yourself to sleep last night, not being able to accept the fact that your parents were dead, and all of the workers whom you have been familiar with were most likely dead as well.

But as much as the grief stung, you used it as motivation to stop Seonghwa from hurting anyone else.

You woke up late that morning, the sun had risen a while ago. You changed out of your nightgown into a comfortable blue dress, and brushed you tangled hair. You grabbed the book of prophecies, out of habit more than anything, since it was now virtually useless. Still, you took it with you to the library.

The library was full of books ranging from kingdom records to fairy tales you used to read to yourself as a child. Upon entering it, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Nothing had changed. At least, not yet. You walked over to the large armchair near the records. Before sitting down, you grabbed a bunch of books ranging from birth records centuries ago and the kingdom’s laws.

You had two goals today. One: learn about this prophet Yunho that Seonghwa had told you about. And two: find the laws regarding crowning someone ruler of the kingdom.

You decided to start with the coronation laws, since those were the easiest. You had read these books hundreds of times in your studies, so you already knew where it was. The smell of aging parchment greeted your nose as you opened the book.

After minutes of browsing, you found it. Laws regarding crowning a ruler.

Sure enough, it had to be passed down by blood. Someone outside of the royal family couldn’t take the throne if there is still a royal member alive. Of course, there were exceptions for specific cases, for example, if the royal member was too young, then someone trusted would temporarily take up the post.

But if every royal member died, then the throne becomes a free for all to everyone in the world. It was then that it hit you, you were the last standing royal member.

Your parents were both only children, so you had no aunts, uncles, or cousins. And you were an only child, you were the only person left in your bloodline who is able to take the throne back.

“No pressure,” you told yourself. You found a bookmark so that you wouldn’t loose your place. You wouldn’t be a threat to Seonghwa right now, as you were still young. But he might have a plan to get rid of you when you get older. You’ll have to kill him soon, but not right away.

You groaned inwardly. Waiting until you were old enough to take the throne before killing Seonghwa would be the best route. If he wasn’t a powerful demon king. And smart, he most likely knows what you were planning.

You sighed. It was only morning but you already felt tired. And it was only going to get worse. You picked up the citizenship records from a century ago. It was time to find this Yunho.

You had no idea when you fell asleep. All you knew was that someone was shaking you awake gently. For a moment, you thought it was your mother, but you knew it couldn’t be her, because she never woke you up once in your life.

You opened your eyes to a pair of red ones. You didn’t react in fear, Seonghwa’s presence was all too normal for you not. Still, you pushed him away as you sat up and stretched.

“Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty,” Seonghwa teased.

“Shut up,” you said. “What do you want?”

You swore you saw Seonghwa pout. He moved to stand in front of you. He wore a red collared shirt with black pants. Fitting for a demon king.

“I wanted to make sure that you ate today,” Seonghwa said. “After all, humans need to eat, don’t they?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Oh, good. You’ll get a meal soon. My servants are making themselves comfortable here.”

“What?” You stood up from your seat, the book falling to the ground. “What do you mean servants?”

Seonghwa smirked. “I got rid of all your human ones, and I’m replacing them with my own. They’re situating themselves here was we speak. My personal servant is already here.”

Seonghwa turned to where the door to the library was. He spoke something in that haunting demonic language of his. A short man walked up, with pure white hair. He came and stood next to Seonghwa.

“Princess y/n,” Seonghwa said. “This is my personal servant, Hongjoong. He will be in charge for all of your personal needs.”

Hongjoong bowed down. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my princess,” he said.

“What about you?” You asked, confused.

“I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Hongjoong is a very good servant, he’ll be able to take care of the both of us.”

“Okay, then.”

“You must be hungry, princess,” Hongjoong said. “Come, let’s get you some food.”

You didn’t want to go with them. You didn’t trust them at all. But your hunger overpowered your distrust, so you followed the two demons down to the kitchens.

You wiped your face with a napkin before placing it down next to your empty plate. You had no idea how, but somehow Hongjoong had managed to make the most delicious meal you have ever tasted.

Looking up from your plate, you saw Seonghwa sitting across from you, staring you down. You shuddered. You were so engrossed with the food, you had forgotten that Seonghwa was there. And after a quick look around the kitchen, it seemed that Hongjoong had left while you were eating, and you hadn’t noticed.

Seonghwa said nothing nor did anything. You avoided his gaze, the silence in the room suffocating you.

“So,” you said, your voice quiet. “I’m guessing demons don’t need to eat?”

“Not human food,” Seonghwa said, resting a hand on his cheek. “In the underworld, we need to eat food. But in the human realm, we basically become immortal. If we die, we return to the underworld, and can return here as we please. Well, depending on your status.”

“Status?” You asked. “You mean that even demons have statuses?”

“Correct,” Seonghwa smirked. “The higher your status, the easier it is to access a portal to the human realm. The lowest cannot access a portal on their own, they need a higher demon to do it. Unfortunately, most of them don’t care about beings lesser than them.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said. You stood up, picking up your plate and silverware with you. You had intended to put your dishes away, but it had just occurred to you that you had no idea where they should go.

“I’ll take those, princess,” Seonghwa said, standing up. He took the plate out of your hands, his fingers brushing yours. They were warm. He walked over to the sink and placed them inside.

“Is that where they go?” You asked.

“For now,” Seonghwa said. “But you shouldn’t worry your pretty little head over it. My servants shall take care of it.”

“Where are they?”

Seonghwa sighed. “Probably slacking off. Come, princess. We need to find them. I’m sure they’ll pretend that they’re lost as an excuse. A weak one, that is. My castle in the underworld is so much larger than this one.”

You followed Seonghwa out of the kitchens. “You must think you’re so much more powerful than me,” you said mockingly.

Seonghwa chuckled. It was low and sinister. He looked back at you, his red eyes seemingly glowing. “Oh, princess. I am more powerful than you. I could destroy you in under a second.”

“Then why don’t you?” You asked. “It’s not like you need me.”

The glow left Seonghwa’s eyes and cheeks. His face was pale, inhuman. His smile disappeared. “It’s complicated,” he said.

You both walked out into an empty hallway, your steps echoing. “I have time,” you said, curiosity growing inside you.

Seonghwa glanced at you. It was neither dark nor light. More hesitant in a way.

“I’m not sure where to start,” he said. “The most simple reason I can give you is that you are not a threat to me. So why waste my time in killing you?”

“I may not be a threat to you now,” you said. “But I will in the future. I’ll be old enough to take the throne, and you will have a challenger to the crown.”

Seonghwa smiled his sinister smile. You were beginning to get used to it. “You’re not going to give up that easily, aren’t you?” He said.

“Of course not.”

Seonghwa stopped, causing you to stop as well. He turned, facing you, taking a step forward until you backed yourself the wall. You felt so tiny in his gaze. His sharp, yet handsome gaze.

“Why do you want the throne so badly?” Seonghwa asked. His deep voice distracted you. For a moment your mind was preoccupied with different thoughts.

You blinked. “It is my duty as princess to protect the land and it’s people,” you answered.

Seonghwa smirked. “Wow,” he said sarcastically. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Are you-“

“Yes, darling. I am mocking you.”

You stared at the floor. Looking at his face became too much for you. “Don’t call me darling.”

“Why do you want to protect these people?” Seonghwa asked, ignoring your request.

You opened your mouth, before closing it. “I...don’t...know,” you said with surprise. You truly didn’t know. It was just what you were told to feel ever since you were young. But how much of it was real?

Seonghwa came closer, his taller body barely an inch away from yours. Your back pressed against the wall, you peered up at those vibrant eyes. He stared at you, saying nothing. His breaths seemed to grow deeper, as if he was trying to control himself. Your mind betrayed you, dreaming sinful thoughts about him and his body, and the things that it could do...

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He is a demon. He is not good news. But your mind ignored it, enjoying the warm feeling that his body’s close proximity made you feel.

Seonghwa’s silky voice drifted into your ears. “I have many more reasons to keep you alive,” Seonghwa said. “And one of them is for you to decide whether you truly want to be a princess, and in the future, queen.”

You nodded to give the illusion that you understood, but your body was warm and feverish. Seonghwa smiled, having to force himself to step away from you.

“Just some food for thought,” Seonghwa said. His voice deepened. “Darling.”

And with that, he walked away.

~~~

Tag list: @teeztheflag @palesans

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