#and you are utterly wretched and undeserving of all of it.

[gunkbaby]

His saying he’s friends with the grass is so real i literally used to do that with houseflies

[noblechaton]

imagine having some sort of god complex and being faced with some unknown horror that you are rendered completely incapable of doing anything about. just made totally and utterly useless while someone you love suffers from some wretched undeserved illness while you can't do anything for all the clever lines and quick thinking and decades long instilled thought to help and save people wherever you can however you can. imagine not having the ability to do anything more than hold back your fucking tears as the only other person in your physical orbit who has ever even somewhat understood you looks set to undergo a harrowing and life altering procedure that you can't do yourself. the pain you can't take from them.

fucking imagine that.

[rex101111]

Okay I'll admit I sort of gave up because if you held me at gunpoint and made me have to whittle this down into one option I'd just tell you to shoot me. So, uh, I made a list instead. Admittedly I think most of them fall into two categories, really good dialogue or really interesting descriptors because those are two things I notice you tend to do really well.

-

Ghosts flaked off him like dandruff, floating in the air as he breathed them back in.

“But I didn’t call you out here so we can have a pissing contest over who gets to be the overprotective monster hiding in the closet.”

Her voice carried the universal annoyance of knowing someone from the day you were born and having no say on whether or not you wanted to know them. She made it sound warm.

A bisected corpse of a Gear was floating in the pond, staining the water a sickly red. Dead fish and birds littered the waters along with it, a few bigger fish found themselves tangled in the hanging guts of the monster.

Baiken kicked open the doors to the bar with all the grace of a sleep-deprived rhino, one of them ripped clean off its hinges and landing on the street with a crash

"I said I wanted to be your knight on a white steed, though I suppose this is a good conciliation prize!"

a black hat held tightly in the death grip of a hideously young corpse dressed in cheerful orange.

Kings, Queens, Dukes and Lords and Princes and every gilded wretch in between would prove to be undeserving of the power they wielded.

He yells at this rock, this stone of his people that glowed with power he could never hope to fathom (because anyone who could have explained it to him was dead), not because he hoped for an answer, but because the question needed to be asked.

It is not a friend. It is too old for that.

So his directions were half baked, unsure. And so Garummon followed, uncaring that it crashed into trees and rocks, because light’s only purpose was forward velocity. It only asked him for direction, any direction. And then everything in that direction became very, very dead.

She made exactly one step before she felt his hand on her shoulder, the one bearing the weight of weapons and scars

Mito did scold her this time, albeit gently, “don’t be ridiculous, you of all people should know how much a girl needs her big sister.”

Her shoulders jumped in a hiccup that came without permission.

She only allowed sleep to have a hold on her when Eri reached out for Delilah’s hand from within her sleep, able to have some measure of confidence that she’d be able to stop her from going too far.

He had to repeatedly stamp down his frustration with her lack of knowledge, if she hadn’t made a habit of deliberately skipping physical checks, she would know nothing in this office could hurt a fly…well, unless it fell on the fly but that would be hardly fair to blame him on.

Such precision was born of either practice, or innate talent, and he wasn’t sure which option made him more sick to his stomach.

Eddie lashes out, grabs Millia’s knife, and crushes it like a piece of scrap metal. Zato, feeling nothing, places a hand on his head, and Eddie calms, his own anger falling into Zato’s void and utterly failing to fill even an inch of it.

"So, I'm going to ask you a very simple question, child, do you want to live?"

She almost doesn't hear him, and then she feels a snag. The saw catches on something, and she knows what it is. The sounds of metal cutting into bone overpower her senses, the shock of the saw vibrates through her entire body, the pain slicing into the marrow and ever louder screams burst from her.

Fredrick (bigger and older and sadder and hurt and scared and different but still) watching her as she explains all she can, Asuka (thinner and sorry and wiser and quiet but still) sending her off with a promise and a hope.

She remembers accepting death, readying herself for it, bracing herself by holding on to Fredrick's hand as the world grew cold. But, now, here she is, alive and fine and with a sore throat and a splitting headache.

"Sol Badguy?" She managed to get out between a chuckle or two, "seriously? You couldn't think of a better alias then Sol Fucking Badguy?"

"Nun habit and Yo-yo Anji." She emphasized emphatically, raising her gaze for a moment to meet his before going back to the present. "Plus, he's a rich white kid." She poked the package a few times. "Buddha only knows what goes on in his head."

She wonders, wonders what song The Men On The Ground will send her tomorrow when she needs to wake up. She hopes its a song about the sun. (YES I STILL REREAD THIS ONE AND IT STILL MAKES ME CRY)

i just stared a this for a while because it reminded that, yeah, im pretty fucking good at this writing stuff ain't I? Izzy honestly just thank you for bringing up this huge collection XD And also some of my older stuff too.

Also yeah I read my Opportunity fic sometimes too when i need a good cry

[childofchrist1983]

A consuming fire is one that completely or utterly destroys, so why would a loving God also be called a consuming fire? It is a challenging question, but we must understand that God is holy – so holy that the unrighteous cannot be in his presence. This consuming fire destroys anything unholy. Those with sin are unable to approach God. It is only through His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, that we find forgiveness and salvation. Through His mercy, we are able to stand reverently before Him.

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

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

Dear Father God, You are a consuming fire. You are holy, O Lord. We know sin is an offense to You. Forgive us of our sins, Father. Thank You for Your mercy and for sending Your son, Jesus Christ, so that we may approach You with reverence and awe. You are beyond amazing and we are undeserving of Your attention, but You are so good to show us favor. May I always remember Your power and worship You with faith and humility. May the Earth and the Heavens sing Your praises forever and may each soul in this world know that You and Your Kingdom forever reign!

You and Your Holy Word and Spirit give us hope, peace, salvation, and so much more! Let our relationship with You be the foundation and pleasing in Your eyes, so that we may hear Your praise as we gaze upon Your face and enter Your Kingdom. Lift our spirits and our hearts. Light up our lives, O Lord. May we abide in You for all our days and beyond!

You are Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End! We know Your promises are true and we place our hope in You! May we continue to pray and seek You. Present us with daily opportunities to go to others with Your message of eternal salvation. May we live our lives with a spirit of thankfulness and may we always magnify You, O Lord. Allow our praises to You encourage others to seek Your face. Help us all to be humble and obedient to You. And help us to be courageous enough to seek You daily and to humbly and faithfully do our duty to You, spreading the truth of Your Gospel to all in all nations, as You commanded before You ascended back to Heaven (Mark 16:15-16). May our lives show the world Your light and Truth and that You are a loving God and Heavenly Father who delights in showing love and mercy. May we all be humbly and faithfully honored and excited to worship, glorify and serve You daily and to do Your will. You have been so good to us, far more than we as wretched sinners deserve. You are so good! So wonderful! Forever and always!

Thank you for keeping me and helping me in times where I am tempted to go astray. Praise be to You today and every day of my life and let me never forget all of the blessings that are given me by You. As much as the enemy will try, he will never be able to successful breed doubt about who You are, in the minds of anyone who truly believes and follows You. And I will follow and serve You all the days of my life and beyond! Thank you for the connection with You that we are given through Your Holy Word and Spirit. Thank you, O Lord, for all Your creation and Your miraculous ways. Thank you for being our stronghold and my refuge. Thank you for seeing us as worth the sacrifice. Thank you for sustaining us, loving us and defining us according to Your will and love for us. Thank you for making sure we are taken care of. Thank you for being the best friend we could ever have! Thank you for Your endless mercy and love that has saved us. Thank you for always protecting us and providing for us and for Your Spirit to help us when we are in need. Thank you for abiding within me and may I abide with You, my Lord. Thank you for giving us a chance to be saved from our sin and spend eternity with You. Thank you for adopting us as part of Your family in Heaven and making us one of Your own. Thank you for being our present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). Thank you for always being near and for loving us. Thank you for giving us a reason to love others and so many more reasons to love, praise, serve and follow You. Thank you for Your selfless and sinless sacrifice. Thank you for Your guidance and protection. Thank you for Your Truth and light. Thank you for Your wisdom and strength and grace. Thank you for giving life to the world and to us. You give and take away – And we thank you for it. Thank you for everything! Your will be done! Blessed be Your mighty name! To You and Your Kingdom be the glory forevermore! In Your name we humbly pray, Amen and amen

[rewritingtrauma]

I won't answer these questions anymore

What you don't see, what you don't know, is that I've been working incredibly hard. This work doesn't look like portfolios completed or buildings constructed, it doesn't look like a thesis, a masters degree, an exhibition, or a promotion. It doesn't buy me new clothes or holidays. What this work looks like is everything it takes to get out of bed in the morning, and stay out, the huge and assiduously tended infrastructure that keeps that tonne weight off my limbs just enough, that fends off that cacophony of negative, critical and harmful voices just enough that I can remain, for the most part, upright.

The work looks like walking through invisible, neck-deep mud to first reach the kettle and then, with that tiny win gained, to keep moving to the dishes... If It's a really good day, perhaps, to the garden... It looks like trying to get to know and to care for myself, against all the odds, against the reality I live with, against everything I have been told about who I am by parents, teachers, peers, society... I know I am an undeserving wretch, a bitch, ugly, lazy, fat, stupid, poor, ignorant, I know I am a waste of air, a waste of space, I know I do not deserve to live. But I have to do the work. I have to do the work that looks like stopping myself from hurting or killing myself most days of the week (even though this would be a gentler, easier option, free from pain and the burden I see I put on everyone around me). So, when you ask "What have you been doing?" "What have you been up to?" or, worse still, "What have you been doing for money?" What can I say? Do I list the million tiny things that just about keep me together at the seams? Do I confess that, many days, there is a return to bed, to tears, and to despair? How do I meet your sense of value in doing and in money earned? When almost everything I do is worthless in these regards? Caretaking, drawing, gardening, cooking, cleaning, homemaking, tree planting, tending, learning, surviving. None of these things earn me qualifications, money or esteem and yet they take up almost every waking hour of my life. And I work hard at them, against the current, and against the odds of my very being.

I'm so tired of this mentality that who we are is defined by what we do, what our job is and qualifications are. If this is the case, then every person born into wealth is immediately and automatically higher and "better" than those of us born into nothing. I am utterly fed up with the "pull your socks up" sentiment that I hear, especially from older people: Like mental heath is the same as a loose fitting pair of socks. If it were that simple, do you not think we'd invest in a pair of fucking sock suspenders?! Or, better still, go bare foot.

I am working so hard to remain a human being in a society that sees me as inferior, defunct, broken, because I do not possess a job with a salary, because my brain does not work like those who do, because I find it hard to turn up, and more to commit, because my mental health makes me and my life different to, alternative to, the path of progress and success, necessarily, because when I tread that, when I have taken those routes in the past, they have led to break down, burn out, and the most severe periods of illness.

Here, if I may be so bold, are some alternatives to those harmful questions:

"What has your highlight of the week been?"

"What brings you joy?"

"If you were a tree/animal/country which tree/animal/country would you be and why?"

I think we would learn much more about one another and connect on a deeper, more vital level by talking about these things than the damaging inferences of doing = meaning and what you do being synonymous with who you are. We all do things but, before and beneath the doing, there is a being. Let's get to know them and let's be kind to them.

With love,

Ix

[maxwell-grant]

any thoughts on james bond??

Not really a fan and I don’t think that’s gonna change. I don’t have much experience with the character to begin with, I watched the Daniel Craig movies which bored me to death. I watched Goldfinger, which I remembered as being fun the first time I viewed it as a kid, but I find it hard to stand as an adult because Sean Connery was an awful man and oh yeah, that’s also the movie where James Bond rapes someone (I get that it was supposed to be a slap-slap-kiss thing but that is very much not what it’s in the scene). And I read the original Casino Royale novel, which is a must-read largely for it’s importance in pop culture and has some interesting aspects to it but, again, nothing that really got me to seek out the character.

Look, I get why Bond has become this huge cultural institution and the spy of popular fiction ever since his debut, why the 60s was the era of “Bond, Beatles and Batman” and why he’s kinda become the new standard for non-superhero action protagonists. I am extremely fond of that particular style you see in media like The Incredibles and Team Fortress 2, and that style owes a lot of it to the Bond films, hell I just posted above a screencap of Venture Bros, my favorite cartoon series. I’m certainly not gonna knock on popular enjoyment of a morally dubious man of action in a slick suit who charms and shoots his way through problems, after writing my most popular posts on my unabashed worship of Vincenzo. 

The things I like the most about Bond’s character in Casino Royale and the Bond of the original novels are largely the ways in which he almost betrays the impossibly competent image he’s been set up with later. I like that he gets picked specifically just because he’s the Service’s best gambler and not because he's the best everythint, I like that he’s uncomfortable with killing and especially the targeted assassinations, I like that he has vices and struggles because of his job. His job kinda forces him to be by default an unfeeling asshole who exploits people, and I think that’s an interesting perspective to develop, even without the context of it being James Bond before “being James Bond is the coolest thing ever” was the driving thesis of the franchise.

Thing is, I never really found any reason to give a damn about anything in Bond, other than enjoyment of the stylistic trappings and absurdities which just get kinda old after a while. I don’t enjoy the titular character or the hordes of largely one-dimensional "Bond Girls”, I don’t think the villains are interesting despite their supposed reputation in pop culture, I don’t get that much enjoyment out of death traps and car chases and gun fights if I don’t have anything at all to care about in the situations. I don’t think characters inspired by Bond tend to be interesting and even Bond parodies have gotten largely old and stale (I do like Johnny English but that’s solely because Rowan Atkinson is my favorite comedian and I’ll watch him in anything, and even then I didn’t even remember there was a third film).

As a kid, the idea of being a secret agent in service of the government has never really been terribly appealing to me, and as an adult it appeals even less. I don’t entirely dislike government agent characters by default, I really like Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks and An Gi-Seok from Vincenzo and agents of fictional organizations like Hellboy’s BRPD and Carmen Sandiego’s ACME, but I can’t shake off the stink of imperialism off my perception of Bond in particular. Again, I know it’s fiction, I know I talk about morally dubious protagonists I love all the time, but it’s the fact that Bond is so closely tied to his role as a government-sponsored murderer, my disdain for real-life governments and secret services being depicted in fiction as a swell and cool thing and not at all what they actually are, and the fact that I do not find Bond at all convincing or interesting enough for me to overlook that and buy into the fantasy, all blends together to make me dislike him.  

And yeah, Ian Fleming had utterly wretched views on gender and race and that bleeds a lot into the stories. People knock on pulps for racism and sexism a lot, and it's not undeserved, but even then I’ve seldom read anything in them as appallingbas the kind of shit you get on the Bond novels, and it’s harder to separate those from the character when so much of it is framed as the thoughts and opinions and attitudes of the character to the world around him. I would still not like James Bond even if I could put aside all the racism and sexism, and I very much cannot, but the fact that they are there, atop everything else, atop the character being an actual rapist at worst and his most iconic actor being unabashedly proud of being a wife beater and somehow still remembered fondly as a pop culture badass, and you end up with the one time Alan Moore did a comically grotesque exaggeration of a character in LOEG and I thought “you know what, I acknowledge that this is overblown and stupid and immersion-breaking but fuck it, I can’t blame you for your thoughts on this particular character manifesting with such bile”.

I know there’s good stuff in James Bond novels and films, I know why the character is super iconic and popular, please don’t misconstrue anything I’m saying as me thinking James Bond fans are horrible or something, because I don’t want to get that across at all. But I personally do not like Bond, and I don’t think I have to force myself to when there’s so many other types of characters and even spies that I prefer so much more. I don’t think I’m ever really going to be a Bond fan (I do like Timothy Dalton as an actor though, and if Sam Neil ever got to play Bond like he auditioned for, I probably would have at least some affection for the character since I really like him). 

I do like Austin Powers also. A lot of the jokes have aged really poorly and apparently Mike Myers is kind of an ass on set, but I think the concept of the eternally outdated parody spy still works, the films still have pretty funny scenes, and most importantly, he spoofed the concept to death so hard that even Daniel Craig said “Mike Myers fucked us”. Austin sucked out and absorbed all the fun parts of James Bond and then made them so funny and ridiculous that the Bond franchise has never again been able to have too much fun with itself, and if I gave a shit about Bond I would probably dislike that, but I don’t so, you go Austin. 

[clairecrive]

“Dear Alfie,”- Alfie Solomons fanfiction

Chapter 5 - “Alfie’s letter”

Finally, we read Alfie’s letter! I’ll admit that I was so scared bc we all know that Alfie has a very singular way of talking but I did my best and I hope you like this. Let me know what you think! I’m open to any suggestions regarding the story.

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @mollybegger-blog​ @br0ck-eddie​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @fandom–0verdose​ @innerpaperexpertcloud​ @evelynshelby​ (let me know if you wanna be added)

Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

                                                                                           Camden Town, London

                                                                                                          April 22, 1904

Dear Clara,

there has never been a day where I’ve been more grateful for the bastard that invented ink and paper to have lived. As resolute as ever, my lovely mother has updated you of my wretched life. Not that I got up to much in prison but I should have seen it coming. Although I’m grateful that she’s taken the time to write to you, I would have actually preferred you to be in the dark about this. Not exactly a selling point for a gentleman to let the girl he’s courting know that he’s in prison. Who am I kidding, I’m no gentlemen. Unlike the ones that came to your house the other day, for sure.

They really sound like bloated wops and honestly, I’m still unsure about how you manage to stay in the same room as them for more than a second. I reckon there would be carnage if it ever happened to me. Hence why I went to prison. I’ll save you the gruesome details but I know that you’re a curious kitten and you’ll probably want to know what happened. So I’ll tell you. Even if in doing so I’m risking ever getting another letter from you. I’ll take that risk knowing that you’re worthy of the truth. No matter if I’ll be heartbroken, you should know who you’ve been corresponding with for the past month.

As you know, me and Sabini have never been the best of mates, no matter the appearance he’s trying to keep. Acting all right and just in front of my face and then going around and speak utterly bullshit about me and my people behind my back. Now, you may not know this about me, or you’ve already realized it anyhow, but I do not take kindly of racist, disrespectful and hypocrites people. Wops above anyone. So when a mate of mine comes to tell me that my “dear friend Darby” has been talking shit about us, I have to do something about it, you understand. So I go and confront him about it, right? And what does the fucker do? When put before the fact he has the audacity to laugh at my face. To fucking laugh at my face, claiming he was just joking. So I showed him how we joke about wops. It turns out that policemen were around and they didn’t think it was funny. Not really surprised, to be honest, those fuckers don’t have an ounce of sense of humour if you ask me.

It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. The only thing was how it affected my mum. And also you, it seems. Never understood how I got so lucky as to have two women worrying for me but I’m really sorry for making you worry. My mum has kind of made her peace with it but I know it may sound new and shocking to you. So for that, I apologize. If you ask me, all men are shit and absolutely undeserving for the attention and affection that women in their life provide them. Me and those fucktards you talked to me about are the living proof. Never thought you had it in you Clara, what a pleasant surprise. Turns out the noble girl isn’t so noble when she wants to. Have they kept coming to you? If that’s so, I’ve underestimated them. They’re far more stupid than I thought them to be but also far braver. Although I kind of understand why they can’t stay away from you. If I were they, I know I couldn’t be able to. Have you told your parents about your plans? Maybe you’ll have more luck looking for a suitor here. Just saying.

I’m writing this letter with the hope that it’ll bring you joy and peace to receive it and not disdain and shame when you’ve finished it. I’ll patiently wait for your next letter but I totally understand if you choose not to associate with me anymore. If that’s the case, I just want you to know that despite my initial apprehensions, I really enjoyed this correspondence of ours.

Forever yours,

Alfie

P.S. oh and by the way, your cousin was right. Your letters were the only source of entertainment and it brought with them sunlight and warmth.

                                                                                                            Naples, Italy

                                                                                                          May 23, 1904

Dear Alfie,

you can’t even imagine how delighted I was upon receiving your letter. How could you ever believe that I would be anything but happy? Of course, I’m not happy that you got thrown into prison but now you’re out and you’re certainly wiser for it, right? Jokes aside, I do not condone acts of violence, I’ve already told you that. However, I understand why you did it. Being a woman I’m constantly subject of racism and offensive behaviours. I’ve kinda made my peace with it but God only knows how many times I had to refrain from smacking some assholes’ face. So, see? Can’t really blame you. 

Maybe seeing as you and I are alike in a sense, you’d never feel like you better hide something like this again. I thought that you, above anyone else, would never use the fact that I’m a woman against me. I know that the situation is less grave than what my words made it out to be but is a very small step to make. You know, even Plato, in V b.c., understood that the difference between men and women is cultural. At least that’s what Ms Alice has taught me the other day. I was utterly surprised to be honest, I had never thought about it that way. But if you think about it, it’ true. The only difference between my male siblings and me lies in what others tell me what I can do and what I cannot. There’s no one that has that same kind of conversation with my brothers or other siblings. Not that I know of at least. Do you reckon for it to be true? I’m sure that as a young Jewish man, many have told you that you can’t be somewhere or doing something, correct me if I’m wrong. So you see, we’re not very different, you and I.

Oh Alfie, just the fact that you’re saying these things proves to me that you’re worthy of every last bit of affection your mum gives you. And also some kind of special girl? We never really talk about it but please don’t feel like you can’t talk to me or anything. I’m not going to be jealous if that’s what worries you. I’m sure that there’s enough place in your heart for her and my, your dear friend. Am I wrong? As for the blokes of whom I’ve talked to you about in my last letter, yes they have kept coming. Just less often. I’ve recently met them at a party a common acquaintance held and you know what I’ve noticed? Whenever I was in the same group of people, they would avoid speaking of any serious subject. Honestly, it was quite amusing to see how they would shift on their feet whenever they would see me approaching and I should think that they should learn a lesson from this: to never speak like they possess all the knowledge. Never understood how anyone can be so pretentious as to feel like they do.  

As for the other matter, I haven’t talked about it to my parents. Not yet. And as a result, they haven’t stopped looking for a suitor. However, I’ve mentioned to them my desire for travelling, especially in England, and that Ms Alice is happy to be my mentor and my chaperone. They also know that I’ve been keeping correspondence with someone from England but I thought it best to leave out the part that you’re a man. Please don’t take it personally Alfie, it has nothing to do with you but rather with the fact that they wouldn’t allow me to write back if they knew. They’re all so very concerned with etiquette and how someone is expected to behave that they would think this is inappropriate. As with many things, I totally disagree with my parents on this. But knowing them, I thought what I had to so that this thing we have can continue. I’ve kinda grown attached to you. 

So how was it like, going back home? Has your mother cooked you your favourite food? Has there been some kind of special activities for your return? I love when you tell me more about your days, it really feels like I’m there with you.

I’m happy that my letters, with my frivolous banter, have helped you through that difficult time. I hope there never comes a time where you stop writing back because you can’t be bothered too. 

I’ll wait for your next letter with the usual trepidation and anticipation.

Yours,

Clarissa

P.s. was that a promise or a suggestion?

[ladycavalier]

He could name the exact number of steps leading up to her door. He knew the precise pitch at which the hinges would creak when it opened. And if he shut his eyes, he could picture with painful accuracy the sickly shade of yellow that covered the walls beyond her threshold. No man should have been so familiar with a lady’s flat, let alone a man such as Erik, and let alone a young lady like Christine.

Familiar he was, however; it was only natural after so many evenings spent sitting in her parlor. The same room also served as her bedroom and kitchen, and it was covered in the same yellow paper as the wall opposite her door. Something close to old candle wax. It was not apparent whether the walls had always been this color or had faded to it in a state of neglect, but it was astonishingly similar to the hue of Erik’s face. Another reason to despise the little room.

Christine never would permit him to find her something better. She was quite the independent little thing and insisted on paying for her housing with her wages. Erik could have seen to it that she stayed in palatial surroundings with not a sous from her purse, but Christine said that she liked where she lived, and that she always preferred “cozy” dwellings like his home.

Well. Apart from the insult of comparing his house to this abomination of an abode, far be it from Erik to say what Christine liked or did not like.

She liked him, after all.

And he certainly liked coming to visit her, even if he loathed that drab, jaundiced color covering every wall in the single-room setting--not because it brought out the unhealthy paleness of her skin and the dark smudges beneath her eyes from long nights in his company--and not because such an ugly shade of yellow was an affront to any God-fearing human being--and not because it reminded Erik of his wretched face. ...At least not entirely.

It was because it was not his home, and it was not what Christine deserved. To close his eyes and picture that colorless--or perhaps colorful, if the designer had intended to capture the myriad tones of mucus--wallpaper was to remember why he only visited her here instead of having Christine come down to his house. The room he had set aside for her there contained every luxury befitting her beauty, but it also had her blood on the wall behind its door. There was a perfect white vanity that was better than the one in her dressing room, but it was of little use after he smashed the mirror. The plush carpet was still covered in glass. The stuffed wing-back chair to which he had tied her had been smashed to pieces. The snug fireplace was filled up with stones and plaster, debris shaken loose by the mechanisms the scorpion had activated. And there was still a distinct smell of musty water whenever one stood on the side nearest the torture chamber.

When she first asked why she could not stay with him, he told her he needed to clean. When she asked again, he said the furniture was not yet repaired, the fabric was not laundered, and he needed to clean. The next time, he told her she could not possibly stay there until he had finished removing the mirrored room that shared a wall with hers. That, at least, he could do. Removing an entire room was in no way comparable to picking up pieces of a mirror, but there had only ever been the boy and the Persian in that room. When he tried to look at Christine’s, however….

He could not bear to see her there, in a place of so much horror that was still, and perhaps always would be, so very fresh to him. Christine did not seem as affected, however. The marks on her beautiful brow and wrists had all but vanished, and the unseen scars he had caused her appeared to have healed beneath the unexpected, utterly undeserved outpouring of love these recent months had seen.

She loved him.

She loved him, and she even trusted him, after everything he had done.

But Erik would not bring her back there again. He could not stand the thought, though he was not sure whether it was in evasion of his own selfish guilt or for fear that she would see the evidence of all she had suffered and leave him at last.

“Nonsense,” Christine had said. “If all it took was remembering...that time...then I would have never come back to you again, would I have?”

She was right, of course; she so often was. If she did not fear him when his bare face was before her and his hand was at her satin throat and he delved between her lips like the wanton he was, she would not fear him simply because of a change of venue, even if it did bring back nightmarish memories. His face would certainly have been enough to accomplish that.

No, he was the one who could not face her being down there once more.

And so Erik came to his Christine in the night and the evening, sitting in her parlor and sipping the overly sweet tea she always brewed for them while trying to return her smiles. It was easier when he was looking only at her eyes and her angelic face, or, better yet, when his face was buried in her hair and against her soft white throat. When they read, or sang, or were too busy to speak at all, it was fine. It was heaven. But then Erik would inevitably open his eyes and remember that they were here because he had lost the chance to give Christine the comfort she deserved. That is why he hated that shade of yellow so very much. It reminded him of his face, yes, but it also reminded him of all he had cost them both and how much he could have lost.

Even so, every time Christine’s stairs creaked and her door hinges squeaked and he laid eyes on the vaguely cheese-colored wall, there was also her delicate hand beckoning him inside and her broad smile beaming up at him, as warm as the embrace that always followed. Even if her bright blue eyes still had dark circles beneath them and her skin lacked the flush it should have possessed had she spent more time in the sun, she was always happy to see him there in her little one room flat, and so Erik was happy to be there.

--------

Hearty thanks to @220-221b-whateverittakes for proofing and using the word leitmotif, which is the best thing anything I have ever written has ever been called :”3

[twin-branded]

The fall of the light, the start of the endless night

// Large piece of backstory writing under the read more! Warning: It is graphic, and I dare say not for the faint of heart. Big TWs for violence, heavy gore, and slow death, take caution friends! To those of you who press on, hope you enjoy~

- Mod Nova

This was it. The final battle of an eternal war waged since the beginning of time- the blinding light, against the all consuming darkness. Eons of this ravaging dance echoing, revived in the essence of both parties, and wearing thin in their physical forms… One blow, is all it would take, for any of the three combatants. The twin vessels ascending to chase the light, and the Radiance perched at the very peak of her prison in dreams.

In the sea of darkness that tailed the young gods in their ascent, hundreds, thousands- no, millions of their fallen kin, their silvery white eyes all in a piercing glare towards the sun herself. A crowd of the most bold, or perhaps the most raging of all the dead slithered from the safety of the shadows, chasing the light aside their living siblings, so small, and yet- so horrifying. The very darkness she had always fought with, honed into such tiny, powerful creatures… Mere children, capable of rending apart their older kin that kept her prisoner, and assaulting her.

But even as the darkness closed in; the light refused to die. As injured as she was from their cold steel fury and scorching, wrathful magic- she could tell, they wouldn’t last long themselves. Cracked, shaking, void oozing from their shells despite their persistence- the goddess screamed in outrage and defiance.

“NO! Mere shadows will not overtake me! The void may hunger, but the pathetic Wyrm's spawn cannot compare to the burning light!!”

In their path, another barrage of scorching beams. They almost stumbled in their scramble to reach the Radiance, almost fell- but there was power to working in pairs. One would always catch the other, until so threateningly close, they split up- one lunging for the Radiance, yet barely coming short of reaching her.

“ANCIENT ENEMY, I DO NOT FEAR YOU! I WILL NOT BREAK, THE LIGHT WILL NOT BE CONSUMED!”

Shot after shot, taken at the tiny shadow. The child of darkness stumbled, exhausted no doubt; a chance to end one of them, once and for all in their weakness-! … But that was only one, struggling, trembling before the light’s might, trying and failing to pull themself up with their nail. The other- damn it all, the Wyrm’s wretched spawn took up their father’s scheming mind! There was only the time for a hastily fired blast of light, and her aim failed to strike true- unlike the twin vessel’s nail. Barely leaping past the attack, the child drove the weapon directly between the goddess’ eyes, earning a horrendous roar of rage and pain- the death knell. The mark of her sealed fate.

In an instant, the situation so dire shifted- no longer was this an agonizing game of chase. The Radiance had nowhere to run… The sea of darkness closed in, as both vessels suspended in the air on either side of the doomed light. Disgusting, cold tendrils of void lashed out from below, trapping the goddess’ wings- beginning to tug on her, trying to wrench her down into the Abyss. As the Hollow Knight rose from the swarm of shades to join the much smaller assailants, the Radiance writhed in her restraints; shrieking at her seal, her living prison with seething hate.

“YOU!! IMPURE, DESOLATE BEING, YOU DARE CONTINUE IN YOUR DEFIANCE?! EVEN IN DEATH, INTOLERABLE DARKNESS, YOU BLIGHT MY EXISTENCE!”

Though to blight, was now an understatement. Perhaps an act of opportunity, or one of sheer spiteful vengeance, the Hollow Knight reached for her- sinking his claws into her face, digging lithe fingers underneath immortal carapace. A roar of pain ripped from the Radiance’s throat as the shade proceeded to rend her face open, blinding light pouring from her inner godly core. An assault from above and below, already bad enough- but it escalated, as if her practical assassins had not already ravaged her enough. Another tendril suddenly whipped across her bleeding face, stinging and leaving a golden mark. Then another, from the opposite side- a pattern immediately repeated as the twins lashed at the prone goddess over, and over, and over.

Any other being, a beat-down would have been enough. But no- this wasn’t even CLOSE. Every strike from the twin shades, exhausted, agonized, and utterly furious, bearing down harder and harder. More and more frustration, and pain, infused into every blow- years of undeserved suffering, created in cruel and unusual manners, abandoned to the Abyss, slaughtered senselessly and repeatedly! Every part of the world against them for no reason, just innocent children, forced into a horrifying, desperate struggle for their lives, constantly being torn apart and yet, never allowed the sweet release of death. All of it was her, this massive, insane monstrosity of a goddess, cursing their kingdom, their family, forcing them all to exist and die for no good reason! To suffer and cry out with nothing to ever listen! ENOUGH! ENOUGH!! Finally, the Radiance’s voice was no longer alone, the seething shades screaming in wordless, raw emotion as they continued to bloody and ruin the goddess’s form in their wrath.

As the Radiance was mercilessly beaten down, beginning to be dragged down by the tendrils wrapped over her wings… One of the two even found it in themself to speak;

"You, you are the answer I have sought after all this time! You both sparked reason for and yet condemned our existence, and it is time you face retribution for it all!! You will not be forgotten, you will SUFFER, YOUR LIGHT WILL BE DEVOURED!"

And that was no empty threat, though how the Radiance would’ve wished it so, if she had known how all too literal that was about to be. For they were not done with her yet, even as the savage whipping stopped, since having made her face and mane a bloody mess, even ripping out clumps of her silky fur.

No, this was far, far from over.

-------------

Hazy… Dark.. So dark. Not even the trickles of light from her exposed core could illuminate the world around her, as weary, pale gold eyes fluttered open. There was… Nothing, it seemed. And yet, in this cold black expanse, the Radiance felt anything but alone. She could not see the countless in the wings, staring her down, but she could sense their unholy, unnatural presence. She could not find the two that put her here… But there was an unsettling chill creeping down her back- a feeling never experienced before, yet somehow, internally she could still find the words for. As if it were instinct, to know this situation, this sensation… To know that she felt like prey, that could not lay eyes on her looming predators.

Though exhausted, aching, beaten down- something told her to get up. To push herself off the floor, to run, to fly, somehow try to escape. A rising need, going, and going, the want to scream building in her throat- of terror, of want for help, ANYTHING. Yet no matter how these urges overwhelmed every thought and want…

Nothing happened.

Just a mere moment ago, she was hardly able to open her eyes- but now, they were wide, glimmering with dying light as a surge of panic sunk in. Every part of her was SCREAMING to move, to get away, to scream and shout and cry- mentally thrashing, like a wild beast in a cage-!

… And yet still, nothing happened. She didn’t move… She couldn’t move. Not held down, not pinned… But paralyzed. There was no toxin rushing through her veins, but there was fear. Primal fear, of the unrelenting darkness that surrounded her on all sides.

Chilling shocks ran through her body, causing her to shiver. A sudden wet, cold, goopy sort of sensation on her wingtips- as if being dipped in some sort of icy slime. But then it turned sharp, stinging, burning in the center of it, like a cut had been made. Followed soon, by a sickening, echoing crunch in the darkness- the first sound she’d heard in an immeasurable amount of time down here. It was so small, and brief, yet it felt like thunder roaring in her ears.

Then there was a pause. Silence, the cold retreating, whatever it was… Notably sticky, as it pried away, almost feeling as if it did not want to let go.

Because it didn’t. Even though there was not much to note at first, the texture wasn’t the best, not much to speak of in terms of energy yet… One bite would not sate them even under normal circumstances. If anything, only getting a brief taste to little satisfaction made them hungrier. The cold, wet sensation of little void tendrils creeping back up, before two much larger, eager bites were taken of the goddess’ wings. Another sickening crunch echoing out to pair with each one, followed by another brief pause- the shades didn’t move back again, but they needed a moment. Something changed… They’d each bitten deep enough to draw out orange, sickly blood. And for the first time, something new hit them- flavor.

The overwhelming sweetness would’ve easily sickened normal bugs- but to rather hollow creatures, being potent enough to make them actually detect a strong taste? That was enticing. Enticing, exciting- they wanted more. As if their exhaustion hadn’t already made them ravenous, the introduction to something new had them focused on nothing else but food. And food… There was plenty of.

The pauses stopped, as bite after voracious bite was ripped from the Radiance’s wings- and it didn’t take much longer for the situation to click. The pain, the cold, the sticky grasps, the gut wrenching noise, the worst possible fate known to bug kind was suddenly befalling her. Being eaten alive. Slowly, steadily, being able to feel the starving shades chewing through her wings, working their ways deeper, and deeper on either side.

The horrific paralysis only felt worse as time seemed to be slugging along. Adrenaline surged through her body, screaming more and more to do something, anything- shake the ravenous little monsters off, fight back, to scream and wail through sheer terror and pain. It almost felt like she was screaming, as her throat strained, and heavy, rough breaths were forced out of her lungs- but there was no sound. No sound but that of the gut wrenching chewing, her body being slowly torn apart.

Mouthful after mouthful, while nothing but sheer and utter disgusting horror to any onlookers, was delightful mess to the Radiance’s attackers. The massive moth’s blood was delicious and energizing- soon, also nicely joined by a distinctly salty taste as they got to the more meaty parts of her wings. Their seemingly endless hunger made them want to rush- consume more and more, as fast as possible. Yet… In this dark realm, with their greatest foe in a trembling, tasty heap before them, this was different than anything else they’d ever known. There was no danger. No urgency. No… Greater quest to rush to work on, this was it.

For once in their lives, they had all the time in the world. All the security they could ever want… And the best meal they’d ever had laying in front of them. There was no need to rush, and have such a moment end too quickly. They could slow down, savor it, enjoy this new concept of flavor that their typical diet of soul never provided.

Though, taking time to savor didn’t mean not consistently taking bites- there was an awful lot to chew through, and they still felt painfully hungry. Perfect really, all the more room for the dense bases, right where wings met fluff-covered chitin… And nerves. Lots, and lots of nerves.

In curiosity, other shades had begun to creep closer, but all of the vessels reeled back as the Radiance let out a shrill, agonized scream. Finally, she managed to move, heaving and wheezing as blood gushed from the sloppy, shredded remnants of her wings. She had no way to push herself up- but she couldn’t just lay there! She had to think fast, the reaching tendrils of those little monsters were already grasping for purchase in the open wounds. Losing any of what little protection she had was likely to only make it all worse… But she couldn’t competently move her legs with that armor on, not while she was in this shape. After a rough and hardly effective attempt to shake off the twins, the Radiance frantically kicked off the metal armor covering her legs- whether the resonating sound of it clattering to the floor would attract any further possible attention, or scare it off, she couldn’t tell.

But moving, sitting up, struggling to get to her feet- that would not save the dying light. The young, rapacious gods shrieked in anger at this meager defiance, lashing tendrils acting like whips geared at her legs. Or… One leg, rather. Young, but not inexperienced in dealing with things much, much larger than themselves- and if they could break just one, she’d be down for good, paralyzed or not. However, it seemed there was a hope- a hope that one good sharp kick might put an end to this, they had been just as weak as her!

Though unlike the Radiance, the vessels had been feeding. Renewed by the flesh and blood they had stolen already, while she was further weakened by it. Kicking out only let them catch hold of the struggling moth, yanking and twisting until the goddess lost her balance. Sinking their vile teeth into the delicate joints, rapidly rendering the limb useless. The searing pain ravaged her mind as the pair devoured her body, her vision swimming, though with the overwhelming darkness sight was already a lost cause. Her stomach twisted and turned, the pain and disgust at feeling and hearing them eating away at her beyond nauseating- a tad ironic, how the only thing keeping her from purging her system was her own lack of eating for the last century or so, while something else ate her alive.

How long had passed, now? Minutes? Hours? Maybe even days, it felt like the most miserable, disturbing eternity. Broken, defeated, once again all that broke the silence of the Abyss was the squelches, squishes, and crunches of godly flesh and carapace being consumed. Though for a moment, their meal had been interrupted- overall, the twins were still having the time of their lives, digging in deeper and deeper. They were bloody messes, only really pausing their feast to occasionally reach up with their claws and brush off a clump or two of matted, stained moth fluff.

Said fluff was… Quite a problem, actually. Almost her entire body was covered in it, and while wings, carapace, and flesh were all game- mouthfuls of fur didn’t sound nearly as appealing. In fact, the accidental bite into it here or there was getting quite agitating. The pair stopped a moment to go to each other, and perhaps plan a way around the obstacle keeping them from the sweet insides of their prey.

As disgusting, morbid and torturous as their feast was, there was still a hint of something softer, behind those egregious maws and soulless white eyes. Their voices now merely soft, gentle chimes as they communicated, trills and chips back and forth- had any part of her numbing mind been able to focus on something other than the agony, it would’ve driven home a shameful point. At these years of struggling and brawling with the Pale King… And she was defeated, mauled, being actively devoured- not by the Wyrm. But by his spawn, mere children. Did he know what horrors he had created? Was the Wyrm aware of the power and hunger even such small vessels had?

… Maybe that’s why she had begun to sense the pale light in her domain of dreams. Maybe he was hiding, so he didn’t suffer this very same, twisted fate. Dull, hazy, drifting thoughts, the quiet and soft noises were a respite from the sounds of her flesh ripping and being consumed…

Though, the time to ponder anything was over. Another wave of searing pain left the Radiance’s mind spinning, ripping an incoherent scream of pain from her lungs. The gaping wounds where her wings had once been left openings for the pair, who were busy sinking their claws and tendrils in. Messily rasping away flesh with any grip they could get, and stuffing it into their mouths to feed their outrageous appetites. For a few moments, the scraping and ripping of flesh stopped, almost numbing cold taking over the wounds- yet despite the slight relief from the pain… Something still felt very, very wrong.

An icy, squirming sensation starting piercing into her body, not doing anything to remedy the nausea, the feeling like her gets were already twisting and writhing into knots. Everything was getting so hazy, and hard to process though… What that sensation meant didn’t even really click, until the pain spiked in an all new area- her abdomen. If her organs hadn’t been literally twisting around, now they were being twisted, ripped, rended away from each other to be consumed.

There were a few tremors that could be felt from within the goddess’ massive, increasingly hollow form… Muffled, weak sobs. Before absolute silence, and stillness. The blinding light inside her heart waned and weakened, to a barely illuminating glow- a spark, then extinguished as the ravenous maws of her killers snapped down around it. Brutalized in combat and absolutely savaged in the darkness, the ancient goddess would at long last dream no more.

Even with the Radiance’s overdue passing, the pair of shades would be taking their sweet time. A goddess did not need to be alive to give them energy, her very flesh and blood imbued with powerful essence. Still ripping, tearing, rasping away every morsel of divine flesh they could, from head to toe. They had no concept of time here- it could’ve taken hours for all they knew to strip her entirely, and there was no care. There was even the care to stop and drink the blood that had pooled in her empty carapace, so, so sweet and energizing… Not a drop wasted, save for what had miserably stained and matted her fur.

However long it took, after they were finally done- the twins finally felt content, and for good reason. The most amazing feast of their lives just thoroughly savored, their life-long purposes of destroying the light completed, their wounds and exhaustion long since mended and overcome with their massive meal of pure god essence. A success and reward long and painfully earned, their pleasure and pride expressed through chirps, trills and chimes, back and forth to each other. With all said and done, the sated shades drifted over to their elder brother, snuggling up to the Hollow Knight. They were met with gratitude for slaying the Radiance, for the soon to come freedom once they made their way back to the temple to retrieve their shells… But as the pair passed out in the larger shade’s arms, undoubtedly ready to sleep off some of their meal- the appreciative look faded, to previously hidden horror.

While the sleeping twins were blissfully unaware, it did occur to the knight… It was taboo to eat other gods, and for good reason. Aside from the sheer brutality of what was just witnessed, there was worry for the inevitable consequences. Worry for what was to come, if their appetites had reached to the divine.

[unabashedrebel]

Heart Wretching Reunions

It was hard to adjust. Hard to be among his people, among his home, of all the things so familiar. Yet there was no peace or comfort in it. Silvermoon was a far way aways from the stone walls that made up Stormwinds very own Stockades. But Kirollis almost seemed to miss them, as if he had adjusted to that way of life. Then again, almost any life seemed better then his own.

It had only been a week since he had rejoined his culture. When he wasn’t playing a spectre in his own apartment the rogue idly waited in his old stomping grounds for the next petty annoyance to come ruin his day- and oh had they come. Not much had changed in his time incarcerated save for himself. It had seemed that Quel’thalas was still standing, his associates still getting into trouble… but it was the furthest thing he cared about, even if he used them as a distraction in an endless battle with justifiable procrastination.

Even his own home felt foreign. He had tried to sleep, but insomnia was a beast he could not tackle. It was always the enemies that he couldn’t stick steel into that got the better of him, the ones that didn’t care for his words or his prowess, rendering him powerless to keep them at bay. He had tried to sleep in his lush bed, but ultimately it was far too comfortable to make him comfortable. Instead opting to make his residence on the couch. But even there sleep had evaded him as his mind drifted to all the harrowing things he had faced in just this year alone.

Teldrassil still haunted him. He could still hear the screams of the innocent giving their final breath involuntarily to the pangs of pain. They had watched their home, their loved ones, their very way of life go up in smoke- and he had been there to watch it happen. Despite whatever good intentions- their blood was on his hands simply by association. Fire had been something he saw every time he closed his eyes, a theme he didn’t think would leave him anytime soon.

Despite being gone for six months his abode was still spotless. Truly he had desperately hoped to find some signs of life. A misplaced blanket or dishes in the sink, he would even take the door left half open at this point. Anything that would indicate that Soriya hadn’t moved on after likely thinking him dead. The only bit of hope pointing in that direction being the plants she had set up around his apartment- not a single one had wilted.

As Kirollis laid lazily on his couch, battling off the latest bout of intrusive thoughts that seemed to never truly go away. His mind squarely sat on the topic bothering him the most. How could he explain this to Soriya? How could he look her in the eye and tell her the horrible things he had done in the name of the Horde. Of the lives snuffed out by his ignorance, of listening to orders, of not knowing when to walk away. Would she look at him the same? Would she forgive him?... he wasn’t even sure he deserved it if she had. How could he even justify leaving her for six months without a word, without a desperately scrawled letter mailed from Stormwind. How could he explain how afraid he was of what she would think…

Tick, tick tick, clink…

The sound of the lock turning to his front door was enough to have Kirollis jump up from his lounging position. Though the surprise was quickly overtaken by realization; there was only one person who ever used the seldomly passed out set of keys to his front door. His ears drooped at the revelation as it seemed those conversations would be had whether he was ready to have them or not. His stomach churned and turned with uncertainty as his heart dropped into that endless pit. He wanted to call out, to say he was alright, to spill forth all the emotions he had been bottling up for the better part of a year. But those words never came as the lump in his throat only grew larger.

Soriya had slipped into the apartment with a sigh, closing the door behind her. Her movements were sluggish, lacking that optimism that wore proudly like a badge of honor. A frown sat on her lips, replacing the vibrant smile she liked to boast. If only for a moment it seemed like a raincloud had been following her around as she drifted in one of the only places she had called home. There was no more hope left in her that Kirollis would be waiting safe and sound, but still she had to check. She had to make sure.

“D-dad…?” The young monk stated as she finally caught eyes with her long since missing father. “Dad?!” Dropping her dufflebag to the floor with little care she would rush over to the rogue. Tears already welling in her teal eyes. There was no pause, or stop to her sprint, not until she was close enough to throw her arms around him in a tight hug.

Kirollis couldn’t move, he was stunned, stunted, and utterly unprepared. Slowly his arms came back around to complete the hug. The only thing he had wanted in months, and yet it felt hollow. Undeserved. After all the pain and suffering he had caused her, that she so simply embraced him. Desperately he searched for the right words to say, but they never came.

“Dad?” Soriya repeated as she pulled back to look at him. Those tears of hers already streaming down her cheeks. “Wh-... where were you?”

The question only served to tense him, to grind those slow movements to a halt. “I…” He managed to get out this time. But the overwhelming silence that seemed to suck everything out of the room was all that remained.

“Where were you?!” Soriya exclaimed. There was no anger in her voice, but the hurt and discourse that had been pent up for six months came tumbling out. “I thought you were dead! I thought you just left! You can’t.. You can’t just…” There wasn’t anything she could do to hold back the outpour of emotions as the young woman openly sobbed. Slamming a balled hand against his chest she finally mustered enough to say, “You can’t just leave me. Everyone always leaves me. You can’t be one of them.” She pleaded.

It broke his heart in ways he never knew existed. To see his daughter, the picture of composure break down in his arms. To know he caused her so much hurt, and only because he was hurting himself. It was selfish and cruel, and now he could see it for exactly what it was. He could see himself for exactly what he was. Every despairing thought he had about himself was proven right in that moment, and it was too much for him to handle.

“I was scared.” Kirollis admitted in a quiet tone. He could never lie to her, especially not now. She needed to know why and at the very least he could not deny her that. “I was scared you would hate me.”

With her face flush and wet streaks running down her cheeks, Soriya still looked surprised by the concession. Her brows knit together as she desperately tried to make sense of his words. How could she hate him?

“What I did… what happened at Teldrassil…” He forced out, but failed to articulate the nightmare that he had been living. The same one he could never quite put to words, even in less emotionally charged situations. “I didn’t think you would look at me the same. Like I was your hero or something. How could you look up to a guy like me…”

It took Soriya a few moments to process just what he had said. She understood what had happened, what war looked like in its most ugly form. She had even mulled over the idea that he had fell in the battle for Darkshore. An infinitely worse scenario in her mind. “... I don’t care what happened. What you did…” She mustered the courage to say. “I just… I don’t want to be alone again.”

Kirollis hung his head down at the statement. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his own fears outweigh Soriyas. What kind of parent was he? To leave her here, alone, worrying about his existence and wishing he was simply there. Perhaps the only person on the entire planet who only wanted him around for his company, for the unconditional love that highlighted their relationship.

“I’m so sorry Soriya…” The rogues voice cracked in earnest as he pulled her close into another hug. “I am so, so, sorry that I hurt you.” That embrace only tightening as if he were afraid to let go. “I won’t leave you again. I was an idiot to in the first place. I...I... don’t want to be alone either.” A sniffle escaped him before he continued to speak, “I was so worried you would hate me I went and did the same thing my parents did to me- I ignored you. I ignored how you felt and…all that did was make things worse. You deserve better.”

“Shut up…” Soriya muttered. “Just… just tell me a stupid story about it.” She pleaded as she continued to quietly sob into his shoulder.

Kirollis couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at her words. Perhaps the only genuine one he had worn in months, “Alright…” With a deep breath he started, “Well it started in Ashenvale….”

[not-a-luxury]

Signs that I’m healing keep popping up! And I have always been- my self in a constant blessed bedraggled indignant hopeful beautiful wretched pure state of self-repair.

A couple of signs are: being able to overcome nausea from shrooms when it threw me for a ride a year ago, when shrooms sunk me into a deep dark depression a year ago- reflecting a completely different reality

And one more that made me pick up my phone, download tumblr and type this entry out.

Back home I was stuck in perpetual survival mode. Screaming and clinging just to stay where I was. I was getting better I think, gaining power but also just not there yet. I am cycling through past selves. Old me’s- from american high school, singapore secondary school and then junior college- that last one was where i was feeling stuck the whole last year. I felt her hovering, moping, I enjoyed her presence and her yearning and dark tendrils, reliving her stress and isolation and the unbearable routines that kept her going, the lost opportunities and strangled imagination that kept her from pursuing collegiate art, from doing anything sustained but a sport she only enjoyed for its short skirted uniform. Her yearning to fit in, and the I’ll fitting persona she wore- quiet desperation that was not so quiet. The hunger. I really empathize with her. Sweet child. 10 years ago. I am not you, I am you but you are an echo. I have grown around your bones. I have healed and tended to and aggressively defended what was deeply and utterly broken.

I feel more whole than I have in 10 years. That last shroom trip a year ago shook me to my core, it put me off psychedelics for so long. It saved me- from running away from my problems yet again, to a different city, uprooting everything, for the blind pursuit of something that would’ve set me back to the bottom of a ladder, to be unnecessarily vulnerable to the wrong people and institutions. Instead, I am here and better for it.

I haven’t seen her, heard her, walked backwards in her skin for a while. Don’t remember the last time. Yes I feel her aches from time to time - what if I had studied art then? But perhaps I wasn’t ready, perhaps this was all meant to be. I long to paint and create sprawling, vulnerable, living, squelching pieces of art. Maybe I’ll get there someday. Maybe my longings, my dreams will change. I love being in museums because my heart simply sings out.

Oh, to hold onto what makes my heart sing. What is the in between? How can I hold onto that feeling when I’m not painting for that large mirage-future exhibition? To be enough for today. The person I am today.

I am so, so fucking proud of the person im becoming, have become, have always been, will always be. I think that started when I was 22. You wonderful darling thing, thank you.

Another thought that’s been on my mind is this demonic-poison-ivy/languid-but-deadly-water-spirit dual persona. With a mix of ghostly girl. This embrace of darkness. This unrepentant streak of sitting back and not pandering, not a single iota, of not giving undue praise or undeserved meanness- yes that too. The ambivalence and ruthlessness must be precisely aimed.

I feel it in my bones- I am enough, enough. I am. That’s it. I am a manifestation of nature- hungry and full of needs and desires and light and dark and love. I’m not sure about hate- does a tree hate how it’s been split apart by lightning, fated to grow in two directions for for the rest of its life? I don’t think so, I think it loves the earth, loves the microbes, loves the sunshine and the birds that nest in it, loves the heat that flakes its bark. It does not hate the whine of the chainsaw but parts- knowing that it cannot be ended by so trite a thing. That it will continue on in all the things it influenced and sheltered and loved. And yet the tree does not make it easy for the saw.

Oh, to be ever thickening my trunk.

I love her, my college self, I tuck her away inside me- instead of letting her draw me inside her, i pat the seat beside me. Instead of envy- for certain parts of her, and exasperation and regret for others, I say- this is our second chance. We are getting there.

We can do anything we want. We can be led.

And so I’m opening myself up in spirit- to the greater Love that is running the show. Love has always been running the show, my source of self repair, the connective tissue that runs through me and beyond me and before me and that will never end. The most previous thing. Lead me, all of me’s. Languid spirits and demonic girls and college burnouts and failed artist and glimmering dreamer.

Of all my selves I choose you, my previous self today. Attention as the most previous currency. Attention as love. Here we are. No more looking back. Present. Loved. Whole. Enough. Being.

[ar3volut1on]

Last night I shared a couple of songs that make me think of how undeserving of salvation I am.  How I am no better than the thief who hung beside my precious Savior, I am guilty and I deserve the cost of my sin, death and hell.  But like that thief my heart recognized who Jesus is, what He did and offers, and I cried out to Him to save me, forgive me, buy my pardon!  I am reminded of how I can live just as Barrabas did because He died upon that cross and rose from the grave the third day giving eternal life to all who believe in Him, place their trust in Him for eternity, who call out to Him to wash them in His life giving blood and make them white as snow.  Jesus is the only hope of thieves, murders, sinners – which is all of us.  Every single man, woman, and child that has ever lived has sinned save one – Jesus himself who lived a perfect sinless life so He could take on himself the punishments for our sins.  He was able and willing to pay a price He didn’t owe that I did.  I have sinned, was full of it, lived for it.  I was a bitter, broken mess of wretched sin.  He was light, life, love and He paid the price before God for me.  Thank you Jesus for buying my freedom, giving me life eternal, saving my soul!

I want to go over a few verses that show just how amazing this truth is, how vital to a true believer, Christ follower.  For if it was not for my sweet Lord I would lost – depraved, doomed, damned for eternity.  Utterly without hope, a prisoner of hell for my rebellion, unbelief, and rejection of the one who gave it all for me!  If you are like I was before October 10, 2010 then I beg you to prayerfully consider what these verses say, the truths they impart and then seek freedom, seek Jesus.  Cry out to him as the thief did and be given life as Barrabas was, as I was.  Then life for Him, share the hope and joy you then have with the rest of the lost and dying world.  Get busy for heaven’s sake!

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I am UNDESERVING! Last night I shared a couple of songs that make me think of how undeserving of salvation I am. 

[gshuan]

01/14/18 Journal of Repentance

My father in heaven...right now I'm having a hard time coming to you. I feel ashamed to speak to you, a holy, righteous, blameless God. I feel the emotions Adam and Eve felt, knowing I've sinned against you and wanting to hide. Father...i feel hallow. I feel a deep chasm in my relationship with you...I've lost my joy in reading the word, in being with you, in singing praises to you. I've repeatedly made myself be in these pathways of grace because I want to repent, and I know I cannot repent if I don't come to you. I'm putting myself on the pathway of grace father, soaking myself in Your Word and your presence, and the gospel. And i feel this deep sorrow over what I've done and how it must have hurt You...you alone are the love of my life. Father, in my sins, I've proclaimed I love you less than my sins...I've proclaimed you're less worthwhile than the sin I chose to commit. Forgive me father...you're anything but less than them. My heart believes! Help my unbelief in the moment of temptation, make my heart's delight for you become my only delight. Take away any joys i find in sin...please. Father...how much of a stab is it to you, when I'd worship on a Sunday morning, I'd cry repenting to christians, encourage brothers and sisters to fight the good fight, singing with all of my heart, praying to you crying, reading your word in tears, then fall into lust two hours after church? I'm so so so sorry...my father....would you forgive me for the way I diminish you...father...I don't taste the sweetness in our relationship right now, would you draw me nearer...I miss you. I miss the days when I truly believe that you alone are worthy of my attention, when my heart was completely yours and the pleasures of sin were disgust to me...Father, would you be gracious and merciful to me to bring me back to that place? You promised us that if we delight ourselves in you, you would give us the desires of our hearts. Father, I delight in you, but my heart is struggling to come to a full repentance. I still love my sins. I still love to replay the times when I've committed sins in my mind because it brings me cheap comfort. I still love to live well then binge sin to "relieve" myself. Father...I'm not sure how is it that i love my sins and I hate it...all I know is because sins still have some sweetness, and because I still return to it, I know I have not fully returned to you...because I don't see things as you do, things that should disgust me are still pleasurable to me. Father! Make me disgusted by my sins. Make me hate it utterly with my every cell. Would you give me that grace? I repent father! Help my unrepentance.

Father, I do believe that Jesus is better. Jesus is better than anything this world can ever offer. Any pleasures of this world is so cheap and fleeting. You alone are worthy of my praise and obedience. Father, I thank you for your mercy...I deserve hell. I deserve your punishment. I should be dead by now with all the times I've sinned against you. But you are a merciful God. I praise you for Jesus. How is it that the One who knows my deepest sins should be the one who loves me most? How is it that you, the creator of the universe that every created thing bows down to, would care for a wretched sinner like me? Father...drive my heart to realize how undeserving I am...Make this chief of sinner overwhelmed by the weight of the gospel...would you fill this dark heart with awe that Christ has already chosen me, died for me, atoned for my sins, and raised from the dead - conquering every single one of my sins past and future. Father, would you let your grace drive me to a deeper union with you rather than a license to sin more. Would you be gracious to me and give me a godly sorrow over my sins? Father, help me to remember once again your deep jealousy for me, and how in every decisions to choose sins that promise so much a deliver so little, you're yelling, "No! Don't go there! Come to me my daughter. Don't you see who you are now? You're not your old self anymore, you're new with a brand new white robe, because Jesus has taken your rag on himself. Stop putting on your rag. My beloved, don't go there! My love for you burns. You're making me so jealous...your heart belongs to me. How much more do I need to do to prove to you that I love you? I loved you eternity past to future, I've chosen you while you were sinners, I've sent my only son to die for you so that sins wouldn't separate us anymore. Come to me....return to me. No one will love you the way I do. Stop looking for love elsewhere...stop looking for comfort elsewhere. I'll give you more than anything you can ever imagine. Feel my fiery jealousy." Father...help me to understand your jealousy. Help me to live as your radiant bride. Would you let the resurrection power arise in me...give me strength to battle to show you my love for you. Father, I love you....I really do. Please....forgive me...and draw me nearer once again.

[sasorikigai]

@paindealt​ gets a random starter. 

His heart is such an unreliable organ; Scorpion has not regretted his decision to be resurrected even once, for fire and brimstone itself became his power of hellfire, because the very quintessential flames had swept him whole, as black smoke swirled with its every movement, as skeletal fingers sharply grasped the boiling liquid of his veins and brain. A black void; as the universe itself crumbled and collapsed against his skin, with pressure like the bottom of an ocean as he would be crushed, but not burdened. His line of view seem blurry, because either they don’t exist at all or every effort he had partaken to bring Harumi and Satoshi and his lost clan back has been rendered had been naught. Even without his human eyes, they have a way of imagining things that aren’t there to make the truth more palatable and palpable, but the Hellspawn Specter remains utterly separate from this universe in the way that a raindrop is separate from a storm. Even when there may come a day when He Will Not Be, Scorpion does not need to accept this because just as he is, this wretched tribulation becomes what he is. 

This universe does not, and cannot love a wicked creature like him; certainly not as a whole; without Hanzo Hasashi’s fiber and filament found in the blueprint of his blackened heart. Yet, how he craves the very ‘humanness’ with all his soul all on fire like summer dusk. He finds himself trudging through the strenuous climb towards Arctika mountains, in defiant search for the Lin Kuei Temple; the Shirai Ryu was extinct, without its Grandmaster and clan’s members, it was as dead as it could be; yet, his mental strokes paint what could be, if it was restored in whole. Even with him as an inhuman, bloodthirsty specter that would siphon the souls of the dead and ravage the world in effulgent flames of his wrath and revenge. He loves in the dark roots, and beneath the thick obsidian canopy of evergreen and painted sponge of snow across the sky, his gaze fixates upon the peaks of skyscraping tall trees, cresting the hillside; all gray, all cloud, all ghost. 

Maybe he could if he wanted, too - although it is unlikely that his intangible flesh will completely die - to fall asleep in a cemetery and let the earth pull him back. Exhale smoke of the past and rise away with it, to lie still, sleeping in a snowbank to be perished away towards the nonexistence and nothingness. The future remains balanced on the edge of a precipice; and how wretched it becomes, to seek out his arch-nemesis, yet the one who wears completely different facade and psyche, the honorable younger brother of Bi-Han who had granted undeserving mercy upon his defeated form. 

The candle smoke of his form hones like the rising sun against the familiar figure clad in azure and black, with the Lin Kuei emblem glinting against the fracturing light amidst the tapestry of dawn, surreptitiously peeking over the horizon. “You must be Sub-Zero, the younger brother who took over the mantle after Bi-Han’s death. I seek to give my heart a new shape and remind myself once more that your honorable actions become such a catalyst to recreate those treasured moments that I strive and long for, even when such thoughts remain fleeting as the darkness in me is quick to drown such thoughts.” In essentiality, Scorpion attempts to find a way to reconnect to those dreams, to recreate the past-life, even if love flees his heart beneath the diabolical merciless, cold as death.