#befall you even if it’s something as small as a drive to the store or a trip to a new place. i just live in fear of the people i love

[pepprs]

i know i need to shut up abt it esp bc i don’t know for sure if i actually got exposed to covid but like. it’s just so fucking frustrating and terrifying. not just in the case of covid but with other things too like driving. you can take every precaution to keep yourself and the people around you safe but all it takes is one selfish careless asshole who can negate that in a heartbeat and ruin your life or maybe even end it in some circumstances. lol

[siswritesyanderes]

Ok but yandere carlise x reader x yandere esme

(Not as detailed as I’d hoped to make it, but I quickly realized that if I went into detail then this thing would become very long. Hopefully avoided making the characters too OOC. Let me know if you like it, and how I did!)

…

You first met Dr. Cullen when you spent the day volunteering at the local hospital for one of your college classes.

There was a whole group of students there to help out, and you honestly weren’t sure why he seemed to notice you in particular; it certainly wasn’t because you were doing such a great job. Your work speed, in restocking the closets, was roughly average, and you kept having to ask your fellow volunteers where things were supposed to go. Granted, you at least weren’t one of the students who was transparently doing the absolute bare minimum to get the credit, but you wouldn’t exactly consider yourself a shining star of competence either.

Still, Dr. Cullen approached you personally to say, “Thank you for your help. You’re really doing us a great service.”

He was a beautiful man, with warm eyes that seemed to be beholding the goodness in your soul, for how amiably they glimmered.

“I don’t know if I can take any credit,” you said, admittedly flustered by the attention. “It was our teacher’s idea.”

He smiled kindly. “Nevertheless, we’re glad to have you here.”

You smiled back. “Glad to be here.” Then you continued working.

When Carlisle walked away from you, he carefully kept the reluctance from showing in his expression. He sent Esme a quick text warning her that they might have another soulmate in town: a human. His initial thought was that this would be the end of it; so long as Esme avoided meeting you, she wouldn’t feel the awful desperation currently clawing its way up Carlisle’s throat, and so long as Esme wasn’t suffering, Carlisle was confident in his own ability to let you live your own life, just as he had done with Esme, at first…

But then, he knew how that had turned out for her: years of pain, mistreatment…The thought of anything of the sort befalling you…The world was so dangerous, between humans and vampires and other such things, and you, so small in comparison, so vulnerable…

Carlisle regained his composure (though, to the untrained eye, he hadn’t lost it in the first place). The world could be dangerous, yes, but his awareness of that fact was informed, in no small part, by the fact that he wanted justification for keeping you. And he couldn’t give himself such license; it wouldn’t be right.

He wouldn’t drag you away from your human life.

Perhaps he could keep watch over you, and do you small favors every now and then, but that was the most he could afford to indulge.

He heard your stomach growl from across the room; he detoured to a vending machine and bought you a light snack. (Perfectly timed, Alice texted him your preference. No doubt, she was scouring the future to see how you might fit into it; he would have to have a talk with her, to be sure she didn’t go overboard. And deciding to have a talk with Alice functioned in the same way having a talk with Alice did.)

Dr. Cullen handed you a snack from the vending machine, which puzzled you at first; it didn’t seem like the hospital was handing out food to anyone else, and even if they were, why would one of the doctors take the time for such a thing?

He answered your unspoken question with a polite smile and the words, “You were looking a bit faint; I thought you might need this.”

Had you been looking unwell? You didn’t think you felt that bad, but a doctor would recognize the signs if something was wrong, and you were pretty hungry. “Thanks,” you said, and he dipped his head in your direction. Then he and his kind smile departed.

That wasn’t the last time you met Dr. Cullen.

Your paths crossed in all sorts of places: in the grocery store, he tapped you on the shoulder once to ask if you’d dropped a hundred dollar bill, and he urged you to keep it even once you’d told him it wasn’t yours; you saw him in your school’s science building, one day (He was there to speak to one of the professors, and he asked you if you had drunk any water recently.); and you even ran into him at the library. All incidents spaced out over weeks; not close enough together to really be coincidences worth thinking about. You figured that you had probably crossed paths just as much before meeting him, but only noticed now because you knew who he was.

Anyway, the two of you remained acquaintances. He was a nice man.

When someone slammed into your car, a few months later, he was the doctor who cared for you.

“A hit and run?” he murmured, tutting in displeasure as he moved a light across your eyes. “People should be more considerate, and careful with other people’s lives. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“They probably just made a mistake and were scared of the consequences,” you offered, because the doctor genuinely seemed somewhat upset. You were trying to assume the best about the other driver, because the alternative was getting angry about something you couldn’t change. You had barely even seen the car that had hit you. You just knew that it was some shade of yellow, and apparently much stronger than yours. “I wish we’d gotten to trade insurance information or something, though; my car is apparently totaled.” Despite your best efforts, your voice wavered.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Dr. Cullen said, and you were probably delirious, but something about the decisive way he said it made it seem, to you, as if he himself planned on helping you get your car fixed. “Follow the light with your eyes.”

You did.

“Have you...” The doctor seemed to choose his words carefully. “Have you called anyone, to let them know what happened, and that you’re alright?”

“No, I guess I haven’t. The ambulance got there so fast, I guess I didn’t have time to think about it.” You weren’t terribly concerned, though; if your relatives hadn’t been made aware of the crash, then they didn’t know to be worried yet. No need to call them now.

Dr. Cullen stilled at your words, though; the light in his hands shone in the spot between your eyes and did not move. It was as if he was deep in thought. No, as if he were at war with himself.

“Dr. Cullen?” you prompted.

He quickly smiled, setting down the light. “I think you should call them. Now, if you can. I would...just feel better if someone knew where you are, and that you’re alive.”

You called them (as awkward as that felt with the doctor right there in the room, patiently waiting), and Dr. Cullen seemed to relax.

Once you were released from the hospital, you went back to only seeing him every once in a while, around town.

Your car was mended seemingly overnight, under mysterious circumstances, and a part of you jokingly wondered if Dr. Cullen was some sort of fairy godmother, or guardian angel.

Then, another month after your accident, a stranger approached you while you were walking back from your last class of the evening.

“Hi,” the stranger greeted you, somewhat apologetically. She was shorter than you, with a lovely face and spiky black hair and a spritely disposition. “I’m Alice. I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you help me carry something to my car? It’s getting late, and I really don’t want to be here after dark.”

“Oh, sure,” you answered, feeling so at ease that you forgot every warning that would normally flood to your mind about the danger of following a stranger to her car. So at ease that your mind somehow just failed to observe the taller guy standing right next to Alice, well in your field of vision. You saw him, but you didn’t really think much of him.

You followed Alice to a bright yellow Porsche, and the shade of yellow stirred something in your memory, but you couldn’t say what; you were too busy looking for what you were supposed to be helping her lift.

A lovely woman with a long blond ponytail leaned against the car trunk, staring at something that she was holding in her hand, and there was a figure sitting inside the car, too; you couldn’t see them through the tinted windows, but you saw enough to be confused as to why you had been called here to help when it seemed Alice had many potential helpers, here.

Your panic, as you began to realize the ruse, had only just begun to climb when the blond woman suddenly moved, swift as a bird, behind you, and there was a hand over your mouth and a feeling like a pinch in the side of your neck.

The thing she was holding. It was a syringe.

The tall guy (the one you hadn’t thought much of, at first) moved to open the nearest door of the Porsche; he moved the passenger seat forward, to access the back row of seats.

“Wait, stop,” you slurred against the hand (the stunningly cold hand) over your mouth, as the woman who had syringed you began to maneuver you into the Porsche with surprising strength. You were already losing control of your limbs.

“This is officially the worst thing I’ve ever done,” the woman griped as she slid you carefully inside, then climbed in behind you. You were sandwiched between her and the person you’d seen through the tinted windows: a sulking young man with bronze hair. Four strangers total, and you were in the back seat of their car.

“Thank you, Rosalie, for your help,” Alice said resolutely. “Will you drive, Jazz?”

The tall one nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat while Alice occupied the passenger side.

You struggled to find your voice, or your fists, through the haze of sedative.

“It’s okay,” said the sulking young man at your side, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’m able to hear you, even if you can’t speak. I can read minds.”

“The human is still awake?” Rosalie said.

“Not for much longer, but yes. You have time to apologize.”

“Sorry about all this,” Rosalie said, gently nudging your mouth closed (as it had fallen open). “Don’t be scared; we just…have to bring you to Carlisle and Esme. They’re pretty great people, and they’ll treat you really well. And these guys were going to do it anyway, so I had to come and make sure things went smoothly. Alice and Jasper can’t even administer a shot; they probably would have chloroformed you or something-”

“Wouldn’t’ve had to,” said the tall guy in the driver’s seat- Jasper, apparently. “Could’ve just lightly flicked the back of their head at the right angle. Provided Alice checked the future to make sure we did it right.”

“…and didn’t cause a concussion, or worse,” the bronze-haired one deadpanned.

There was a brief silence. You were sinking against the self-proclaimed mind reader, unable to support your own weight. You were about to sleep. You actually wanted to sleep.

“Don’t worry, Rose,” Jasper added. “I’ve made sure the human isn’t afraid.”

You supposed you weren’t. Why weren’t you?

You fell asleep before you could figure it out.

…

You awoke to the sound of agitated voices, outside the (closed) door of a bedroom that was not your own.

You were in a bed, and it was obscenely soft and pleasant, but it wasn’t yours, and you weren’t home.

Where am I?

You felt weak, and tired. Heavy, confused. But you had to stay awake, and regain your wits, because you had been taken somewhere, and you didn’t know where or why. There was a window across the room. It was nighttime outside the window. Maybe if you could make it over there, you could climb out and run for it, but you didn’t yet have the strength to even get the bedcovers off of you.

“Because it’s been awful to watch how badly it affects you to be away from your mate,” one of the voices outside the door was saying. “All five of us agreed, and we never agree on anything!”

“And it’s not like it wouldn’t have happened eventually,” another voice agreed. “Just like with Esme.”

“Exactly! You were only prolonging your own suffering, for no reason.”

There was a sigh, and a familiar voice said, “Are you all finished?” It was Dr. Cullen; that much you knew, even though you had never heard him sound so tired.

“We did it for you, because you deserve happiness.”

“And now that Esme has seen them, there is no way to undo it, is there?” Dr. Cullen asked rhetorically. “Edward, is the human awake?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring some food up, Carlisle,” an entirely new voice suggested. “The children have been…underhanded, today, but there’s no reason we shouldn’t make the best of it.”

“It was for the best.” (Your head was clear enough, now, that you recognized this unabashed voice as belonging to Alice.) “You’ll see.”

Footsteps approached the door, and shortly a woman entered the room. She was soft-looking, with caramel brown hair, and she held a dinner plate in her hands.

“Good evening,” she said, soberly. Sitting on the edge of your bed while you struggled to sit up. “I’m so sorry the kids did this; we didn’t ask them to, but they thought they were doing us a service. I’m Esme Cullen, Dr. Cullen’s wife. Here: eat something.”

You ate a forkful of pasta only because it was too close to your mouth to refuse. “Why ‘m I here?” you asked hoarsely. “Take me home.” Another forkful slid into your mouth.

“I’m very sorry,” Esme said. “I’m so, so sorry, but you see…the trouble is…” Her eyes scanned over you, and she smiled a seemingly involuntary smile and didn’t finish her sentence. As if looking at you was simply a much better use of her time.

“I want to go home,” you said.

Esme sighed, pressing her lips together contritely. “The trouble is, I can’t bear to relinquish someone who is so important to Carlisle, and Carlisle can’t bear to relinquish someone who is so important to me. I promise you, though, we will make it up to you.” She fed you more pasta.

It tasted delicious, but that did nothing to assuage your terror. “You don’t even know me. What do you mean, I’m important to you?”

Esme clicked her tongue softly and rhythmically against the roof of her mouth, as if to soothe. “Carlisle can explain that better than I. But rest assured, everything is going to be alright.”

Your skin crawled, at the dissonant cordiality. “Where is Dr. Cullen?”

You heard a flutter of what could have been footsteps, if people were capable of moving that fast. Then, the bedroom door opened again and Dr. Cullen entered.

“Hello again, dear heart,” he greeted you, and his demeanor was about the same as it was in public, or in the hospital. Respectful, polite. Maybe just a bit...off. Too much of something, maybe too polite and kind for the circumstances. “I’m terribly sorry about all of this.”

The apologies were making this worse. “You don’t have to be sorry,” you said. “Just please take me home.”

“I can’t do that, angel,” he sighed. He did appear sorry, but not as sorry as he should have. “But I can explain everything to you now.”

He sat down on the other side of the bed, opposite Esme, who was still feeding you. And he did explain everything, in such expansive detail that you fell back asleep before he even got to the part about mates.

…

“You can pretend with them, but not with me.” The voice was quiet, and not so much accusatory (despite the pointedness of his words) as reminding.

“I know that, son.” Dr. Cullen sounded positively serene.

“You knew how much time you were spending with Jasper, in your saddened state.”

“Yes.”

“You knew that we would do this.”

“I…suspected.”

“You meant for us to do this.”

“That’s enough, I think. Thank you.”

Silence fell.

You opened your eyes just a crack. The pillow beneath your face was awash with yellow light; the sun had risen, since last you’d fallen asleep. None of it had been a dream. You were still trapped in a house with these people who thought they were vampires. You closed your eyes again. The two voices had been speaking from the direction you were facing: Dr. Cullen at your level, perhaps in a chair at your bedside; and the other above, as if standing.

“One month,” the first voice suddenly added, and you weren’t sure what it was in reference to. It was as if an inaudible question was being answered.

“That’s her optimistic guess, or her pessimistic?” Dr. Cullen inquired.

“If all goes well, it will be one month. Poorly, and the longest she’s seen is three months.”

“Well, that is good to hear. I’ve waited much longer with hope for much less.”

“I know.”

You turned over, so that your back was to them, and began to open your eyes again, but then you heard Dr. Cullen rise from his seat, take up the chair, and move around the foot of the bed. You kept your eyes shut as he set his chair down on the new side and sat in it once more. He did all of this matter-of-factly, as if he’d changed sides every time you’d turned over during the night.

The thought of anyone wanting to see your face that badly made you shiver a bit.

“Awake?” Dr. Cullen inquired casually. You didn’t hear an answer, but the other man must have nodded, because Dr. Cullen continued, “Good. Esme will be done with breakfast soon. She’s so happy to be cooking again.”

“Jasper is in the kitchen with her,” the other said, as if that was a related statement somehow. “I’m going hunting. Good luck.”

You weren’t sure why, but you felt as if he was talking to you as much as Dr. Cullen.

[whatamidoingwithmylifeman]

MK OC Randomness part 8... I think. Fuck it! We're going with it!

Welcome back to the shit show. Let's go!

also some of these jokes are from lamas with hats

Qiao Fu is my name for the Lin Kuei Grandmaster

Also some of these jokes are based off skits done by Moonkitti on YouTube. Just re-worded a bit

Nozomi: Hey uncle Shinnok! Do your old man voice!

Shinnok, in his normal voice: What old man voice?

Nozomi: Yeah! That one!

------

Nozomi: ooh who's this?

Qiao Fu: That's my old wife.

Nozomi: The one who died long ago?

Qiao Fu: The very same

Nozomi: *eyeing the picture* That's too bad. She looks really cute.

Qiao Fu: I'm sorry, do you find my old wife attractive?

Nozomi: Do you not!?

------

Nozomi: I wanna see my little boy!

Shang Tsung: *helping Meat walk* Here he comes!

Nozomi: *scooping Meat up and hugging him* I wanna see my little boy!

------

"Revenant" Reiki: WHY WOULD YOU THINK ANY OF THIS IS A GOOD IDEA!?

"Revenant" Michiko: Probably because I'm a dangerous sociopath with a long history of violence.

"Rev" Reiki: Oh.

"Rev" Michiko: I don't understand how you keep forgetting that.

------

Shinnok: Shh, do you hear that?

Shinnok: That's the sound of forgiveness.

Melantha: That's the sound of people dying dad!

Shinnok: That is what forgiveness sounds like. Screaming and then silence.

------

Shariah: How did you even do this!?

Meat: A dollop of fairy dust!

Shariah: Meat!

Meat: I ripped the tag off a mattress.

Shariah: This isn't funny Meat!

Meat: Who's laughing? Clearly not all the people that just exploded.

Shariah: I'm leaving! I've had enough of this!

Meat: But thank of all the perfectly roasted faces we get to munch on now.

Shariah: What? Why?

Meat: Because we're friends. And friendship is two pals munching on well cooked faces together.

------

"The bar was so low it was practically a tripping hazard in Hell! And yet, here you are limbo dancing with the devil!"- Melantha to Hotaru at a family dinner.

------

"Oh no. There are consequences to your actions? Who would've thought?" Krow to Raiden and Flamus, still pissed at them for completely destroying a village that housed the remaining nymphs and nymphlims their husband made.

------

Nozomi: I'm just here to collect Michiko

Qiao Fu: *tries to stab her*

Nozomi: YOU'RE AN UNFIT FATHER FU! THAT'S NOT EVEN YOUR DAUGHTER! YOU HAVE A HUMAN CHILD! WHO THE FUCK'S DEMON CHILD IS THAT! WHO ARE YOU STEALING CHILDREN FROM!?

------

Michiko: You are not my father!

Qiao Fu: Bring proof you are not my daughter!

Meixiu's ghost in the background: Bitch! You literally murdered her birth father!

------

Nyx: Get out

Reiko: Aww come on. Can't I check in on my favorite little sister?

Nyx: If you don't leave me my room Reiko, I will stab you. And when I do it won't look pretty.

Reiko: there's a pretty way to stab people? Like with a butterfly knife or something?

Nyx: yup. Handle and all.

Reiko: oh... OH!

------

Nemos: Greetings Thunder God!

Raiden: Eh? Nemos what are you doing here?

Nemos: I'm taking advantage of your guilt-ridden personality to get a head start on being a better realm protector while no one is looking.

Raiden: Nope. New timeline, new Raiden. Go- Go play with your sisters.

Nemos: I'll have you know I've lived 15 lives in which I've played with my sisters, and none of them have been consequential!

Raiden: *sighs* I'm trying to take you seriously. Really. But it just feels like an even smaller Shinnok is yelling at me right now.

------

Hotaru: *busting into the Sky Temple and picking up Nemos* My beautiful son, I am back from my epic battle of driving out the rebels!

Nemos: Tell me, man who sired me!

Hotaru: We were fighting when suddenly Soldier B produced a substance that burned through their skin!

Nozomi: That sounds like my poison...

Hotaru: Oh no! We'd never poison anyone. Only ambush them in the middle of the night, kill them through physical violence, and intimidate them in other wise orderly court proceedings. Poison is bad.

Nozomi: Have you considered maybe, asking him if he poisoned them?

Hotaru: Oh no, I trust him completely.

Melantha: *holding Discordia and Harmonia* But, what if he did?

Hotaru: *small whimper before glaring and shouting* Solider B! Come here and apologize to my wife for making her think about things immediately!

Solider B: Hi, what?

Hotaru: I said apologize to Melantha!

Solider B: Uh yeah, sorry for poisoning the rebels or something..

Melantha: Hey, has anyone seen Nemos?

------

Darrius: It seems one of the soldiers has summoned Melantha to their side.

Hotaru: *spying on the rebels* Gonna go see Melantha. I'm gonna see Melantha at the meeting. Gonna see Melantha. Melantha.

------

OB: I made a perfectly good Titan

Fuyuka: You fucked up my daughter is what you did!

Fuyuka: Look at her! She's traumatized!

------

Amara: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve.

Leila: I think you mean cards.

Amara, pulling knives out of her sleeves: No, I do not.

------

Ermac: Bad things keep happening to us, like we have bad luck or something.

Zyta: Ermac, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

------

Zyta: You love me, right, Ermac?

Ermac: Normally, we’d say yes without hesitation, but we feel like this is going somewhere and we don’t like it.

------

Kristy: *steps on her glasses by accident*

Kristy: *inhales* If I knew that this would be the fate that befalls me and these damned glasses, I would've just let the fire reach my left eye and burn it out completely!

------

Megumi: I turned out perfectly fine!

Ayeka: Megumi, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast

Megumi: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!!!

------

Zyta: Stop buying plastic skeletons for Halloween! It's terrible for the environment!

Philomela: Yeah! Locally sourced, all natural skeletons are much more environmentally friendly!

------

Discordia, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him

Harmonia: You did WHAT–

Nemos: William Snakepeare

------

Discordia: Hey Harmonia,

Harmonia: Yes?

Discordia: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on?

Harmonia:

Harmonia: Where’s Nemos?

------

Discordia: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Harmonia: Discordia no.

Nemos: Mistlefoe.

Harmonia: Please stop encouraging her.

------

Store Worker: Would a Ms. Philomela please come to the front desk?

Philomela, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: *points to Amara and Zyta*

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Amara and Zyta, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Philomela: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

------

Erron, driving Ash and Kamden: So how was your day?

Ash: We almost got surprise adopted!

Erron: What?

Kamden: We almost got kidnapped.

Erron: Oh, okay.

Erron: *slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?!

------

Nozomi: Welcome, fellow idiots

Kung Lao: Hello, Nozomi

Nozomi: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot

Kung Lao: You underestimate me

------

Nozomi: What are your goals?

Kung Lao: To pet all the dogs.

Nozomi: No, fitness goals.

Kung Lao: To be able to run fast enough to pet all the dogs.

------

Liu Kang: You know, not every problem can be solved with a sword.

Nozomi: That's why I carry two swords.

------

Sareena: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Michiko's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get her out...

------

Sareena: Do you have any skeletons in your closet?

Michiko: You mean literally or figuratively?

Sareena: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

------

Sareena: Michiko... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?

Michiko: Your text told me to Satanize the house before you returned.

Sareena:

Sareena: I wrote sanitize, Michiko.

------

Sareena: You kill people for money?!

Michiko: I can explain!

Sareena: And all this time I’ve been doing it for free like a chump!

@deepinthefog @merplderpl @yuvononik @dontunderestimatemypoison @feistyfandomthings @toomanyf4ndoms7 @daddydestrey @tora-lotus @calcium1790 @starneko123 @dinogoofy @bar10du @cyberbloodgoddess

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 4.1 - Drifting Yunichika

1. LINE JUDGE

Heeeeeey guys I’m back

Translation Notes

1. Tora no Yu is the name of a public bath

2. A lariat is a wrestling move where a wrestler runs towards their opponent and “ strikes them by extending their arm straight out and moving it forward against their neck or chest area. “

Previous || Index || Next

“If that’s how it’s going to be, Yuni,” Nagato Ryo said quite simply after he stuffed all his belongings from the locker in the room into his enamel bag.

It had been less than three months since he joined the team in April, so he didn’t have much stuff. The inside of the empty locker was also clean. They didn’t have a lot of members, and they weren’t tyrannized just because they were first-years, so they were given their own individual lockers as soon as they joined the team. They were a small team where everyone had to work together, regardless of rank, or there wouldn’t be enough people to prepare for practice. It was very hard on the team to have people quit.

The volleyball shoes that were transferred from his locker to his bag—they went to a sports shop together to buy them when they entered high school because the ones from middle school had gotten smaller. He wondered what kind of fate would befall those shoes that they had bought together at the store entrance after they examined them seriously but still excitedly, after he brought them home. He wondered if they would be put away somewhere.

“Ryo, are you really…”

Even while standing by the doorway to clear his path, Kuroba said in a way as though he was still unwilling to give up, Is there any way I can talk you out of this? He and Nagato had been together since elementary school and middle school. Since they entered the same high school and joined the same club, he freely thought that there wasn’t really any doubt that they would hanging out together again for the next three years.

“If Haijima’s joining, I quit.”

His chest throbbed when he flatly said that. Even though he wasn’t the one being rejected, when he thought about Haijima, his chest ached. Nagato gave a little exasperated sigh.

“I want to have fun in club. I just don’t want to make bad memories with a guy who ruins the mood. What’s so weird about that? Do you have to put so much effort into club activities?”

“No…”

Kuroba shook his head, his face slightly looking down. The purpose for joining a club was different for everyone. There were those who were ready and willing to spend their entire high school careers aiming for nationals, and there were those who just wanted to enjoy their hobbies and interests with their friends.

Nagato shouldered his bag and walked past him. He turned his body towards him at the door.

“Yuni, you’re still doing it, aren’t you?”

He said, as though it was the final confirmation. He felt like he was telling him that they could still go together.

Until that point, he had been mumbling his words, but when he was asked that, Kuroba raised his head and answered without hesitation.

“I’m doing it.”

Last summer, the prefectural tournament of their third year of middle school. Though they advanced to the semifinals, Kuroba ran away from the competition. He ended his middle school volleyball career with the regret of doing something that couldn’t be undone and the indigestion that grew larger and larger within him afterwards. He didn’t want to feel those things a second time.

But most importantly, he finally brought Haijima back to the volleyball team.

His middle school teammate, Haijima Kimichika, was a volleyball fanatic who loved volleyball. It was already at a level where it went too far. He was always serious towards volleyball, and what’s worse, his ability was so high that he often left the others behind and went on a rampage. He had the irredeemable flaw of not being able to read the mood of the team. The way he spoke was also awful. 

He certainly was a guy who was unusually good at making other people angry. Even Kuroba had been irritated by him many times.

…But even so.

He joined the volleyball team in high school as well, had a good relationship with his senpais, and though the serious practice of high school was tougher than he expected, he had never thought that it was so painful that he wanted to quit. Every time he jumped off the gym floor with a squeak of his shoes, every time he hit a ball someone set to him, the feelings he had a year ago buzzed in the back of his body—while he chewed upon the joy of volleyball Haijima taught him, every day during club activities.

There was one thing he always thought.

“I want to play volleyball with Haijima.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Around seven o’clock in the morning, the sky was already bright as though painted in ultramarine blue, and thick columns of clouds were gradually rising. On both sides of the one-lane farm road that continued straight ahead were rural landscapes as far as the eye could see. The rice plants that were still green were growing quickly. The slightly hazy and blue-green mountaintops surrounded the perimeter at 360 degrees.

Blue and green and white. Monshiro’s summer, distinctly color keyed by these three colors, was arriving.

On the paved road in the middle of the rice paddies, a light pickup truck was driving fast with enka music coming out of it at a loud volume. His relative yelled cheerfully, adding embellishment to the song while he gripped the shaky steering wheel. It’s not a residential area, so it won’t bother the neighbors, but the Kuroba family acts way too freely in town… the son and heir to the Kuroba family sitting in the passenger’s seat, Kuroba Yuni, was feeling quite fed up. For the Kurobas, the entire town was like their own yard. Most of the mountains in Monshiro were privately owned by the Kurobas, so that wasn’t necessarily wrong.

“Uncle, can you turn down the volume a little bit…”

“Aah? You said something, Bon?”

His yelling voice returned from the driver’s seat, still with the strange intonations of enka.

“…Nothing.”

Exhausted, he leaned against the side door, his temple reaching the upper frame of the window. At that moment, they passed a bicycle that was travelling below the window and left it behind.

“Ah!”

He immediately tried to poke his head out of the window, but scraped his forehead against the window frame and groaned, “Oww…”

“Mm?” his relative stepped on the brakes. “Is there someone there?”

“Ah, yeah. A guy on my team…”

After he said that, he realized that there was also a delicate distance with “guy on my team.” He could say “team member” again, which was progress, but he didn’t feel like he could say “friend.” They were still more distant from each other than middle school—than kindergarten if they went back farther in time.

As his relative backed the truck up, Kuroba opened the door and jumped down onto the road. He stumbled a step forward and then ran.

Haijima, who had been pedalling his bike with his head down, looked up and stopped his bike by putting one foot on the ground. He was dressed lightly in a T-shirt and knee-length track pants, but heavily equipped with his baggage of box-shaped enamel bag and drum-shaped sports bag that were slung over his shoulders.

His relative stopped the truck.

“Oi, get in, get in. I’ll send you all the way to school.”

His relative tried to lift the bike that Haijima was riding on, and Haijima hopped his bike on one foot, looking annoyed. “You’re the kid at Ooe-san’s house, right? I’ll bring your bike home later. You’re gonna stay there for five days. If you leave it at the station, it’ll get stolen. I’ve heard things have been getting a bit dangerous around here lately.” His relative chatted as he carried the bike onto the back of the truck with an astonishing amount of power, even though he was past sixty. “It’s four stays over five days,” Kuroba corrected, but his relative basically didn’t listen to people. “There’s no way for this town to be dangerous. Everyone knows each other…” Haijima grumbled in a low voice.

“Well, get in. I said I’ll give you a ride while I deliver provisions to the training camp.”

Not being completely one-sided like his relative, Kuroba shyly stretched out his hand for the sports bag Haijima was carrying. He was relieved that Haijima didn’t push away as he obediently lowered his head and pulled the strap of his bag from around his neck.

“’Provisions’? You mean, all of that?”

While fixing his glasses, Haijima looked at the back of the truck with his eyes half-closed.

There were about ten bales of rice stacked in a pyramid on the tray. A huge mound of round cabbages that still had dirt on them. Tightly lined up buckets overflowing with potatoes, onions, and tomatoes…

“Do they think we have a hundred members or something?”

“I told them we didn’t need it. But they said it was Grandpa’s order…”

With the cargo of one bike and one human added on board, the truck started driving down the farm road again. This time, he and Haijima rode in the back of the truck, so they didn’t have to listen to his relative’s singing up close. The sound of the car radio in the driver’s seat and the rough voice of his relative were blown back by the wind.

Haijima sat with his back to the mountain of cabbages, hugging his knees, and Kuroba sat cross-legged with a bucket full of tomatoes in his arms. Haijima’s bike was precariously balanced in the gap between two rice bales.

“Ah, it’s hot…”

Haijima held up his hand to the sunlight beating down on the back of the truck and squinted his eyes.

It was now summer vacation, and the summer training camp for the boys’ volleyball team was starting today. It was taking place at school, so their practice environment didn’t change, but just the idea of staying there overnight made him a bit excited.

“Hey, how many pairs of underpants did you bring?”

When he inadvertently asked that, Haijima screwed his face up, looking very annoyed.

“Is this an elementary school field trip…Don’t get carried away.”

“Okay, but this is my first training camp. So, how many underpants?”

“I don’t know. Grandma packed enough for me.”

“What, you didn’t pack for yourself? I think you’re the one who’s like an elementary schooler.”

The man named Haijima didn’t have the nerves to spare time for anything else other than volleyball, so in the way of a first-year high school boy, he cared little about his clothes or looking good. However, looking at the shirt of his uniform and his T-shirts, he was always made to wear proper and pure white ones. It was probably the concern of his maternal grandmother who he lived with.

“This is my dominion, but…” With a haughty looking expression for some reason, Haijima pulled the enamel bag he usually carried around for club activities to his side. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, indicating with his chin the duffel bag that thrown on top of the ragged pile of cabbage behind him. While he let someone else prepare his underpants, he was certainly very careful about his volleyball gear, to the point where he didn’t want anyone to touch them.

“You’re a guy who has clear judgement about your own ins and outs…”

Even while shrugging his shoulders and sighing, but he found himself reflecting on their conversation.

Their last tournament of their third year of middle school was held exactly one year ago, in July of last year. Because Kuroba evaded his responsibilities, Monshiro Middle School was lacking an attacker and were eliminated from the semifinals, and then Haijima got injured, so they ended up withdrawing from the third-place playoffs. Ever since that tournament, Kuroba and his other teammates had severed ties with Haijima. After a year of not talking to each other, he thought that they were finally able to communicate rather decently now. Even if for now, he was still no more than “guy from my team.”

“Hey, didn’t my mom go talk to your grandma? Can’t we make some kind of parents’ association or something…? It’ll make donations and gifts more convenient, Apparently she talked with Nagato’s mom at first, but Nagato quit, so she said she’ll go talk to Chika’s grandma…”

He began speaking in a good mood, but when he noticed Haijima’s expression becoming increasingly grim, he stopped talking. “Parents’ association…” Haijima spat out those words in a chilling voice. Kuroba faltered, wondering what set him off as his neutral mood was suddenly dropped into low gear.

“Haven’t you learned yet that club activities aren’t a good place for parents to butt in and meddle?”

“Well…sure, but it wasn’t my idea, it was Nagato’s mom’s.”

“Well, now that Nagato quit, there’s no need for this conversation then.”

Haijima turned to the side in a huff and sank his back into the mountain of cabbages. Even Kuroba felt annoyed at that attitude.

“Don’t talk like that. Whose fault do you think it is…”

“It’s mine, right? If he didn’t like me joining so much that he quit, then he wasn’t serious from the start.”

It’s no good. It’s not worth talking. Nothing changed…This guy’s lack of consideration. For Haijima, the people who played volleyball seriously and everyone else were clearly divided into those he cared about and those he didn’t. It was the same as the things he took good care of in his club activities bag and everything else he didn’t care about.

He didn’t believe Nagato’s quitting was Haijima’s fault, but he honestly wanted him to share a little bit of the bad aftertaste he himself felt.

However, when he tried to say something and inhaled, he couldn’t think of any words that would make Haijima understand. Ah, geez, sometimes I don’t know why I brought Haijima back, even to the point where I ended up cutting ties with Nagato.

Shit, he cursed, and took a tomato from a bucket and threw it at the side of Haijima’s face. He stopped it with his left hand, looking startled.

“You—”

“Eat it, it’s tasty.”

He also took out a somewhat large tomato and took a big bite out of it. The sweet juices trickled down his chin, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“I picked them in my relative’s field. I’m sure our senpais would love them.”

It had actually become a traumatic experience for him, when he had gotten nervous and lost his bearings with the huge cheering squad of all his relatives appearing at that middle school game. He really wished they would cut it out with that sort of thing. At any rate, in this case, they overdid it with the scale of the “little favor”. But, putting that aside.

“I think you’re doing this with good intentions. Even if you don’t want a PTA, you should accept these. And then they’ll be satisfied too.”

Although he often felt embarrassed or irritated by them, he didn’t hate or detest his grandfather or relatives or his parents.  If someone talked bad about them, he didn’t feel good about that.

Holding the tomato in his hand, Haijima looked at him in silence for a while. The dazzling summer sunrays reflected off his pale face, and he couldn’t see his expression behind his glasses. He then clicked his tongue and turned his face from him again.

“…That’s something a well-bred guy would say.”

He said bitterly, throwing his gaze towards the scenery streaming past them. In the end, the tomato just rolled around in his hand, and he never ate it. Even though it had been a year and a half since he moved to town from Tokyo, he seemed to persist in not becoming a member of the town. It felt somewhat lonely. I might still be dragging the image of “Chika” from kindergarten around, he suddenly thought. He knew that “Chika” went to Tokyo and got lost and would never come back. The only clue to finding “Chika” was volleyball, and it wasn’t like he was only playing volleyball for that reason, but it was probably a big part of it.

A light horn sounded from the driver’s seat.

They passed another bike near the shoulder of the road. Haijima, looking behind him, noticed something and muttered, “Ah.” Kuroba also took notice of a jet-black umbrella that completely disregarded the weather and was somewhat meandering along under the blinding summer sky. “Ah,” he said, and half-rose.

“Kanno-senpaaaai!”

When he called out to him from the back of the truck, a pale freckled face, even whiter than Haijima’s, peeked out from beneath the umbrella. He was holding his umbrella, so he was riding with one hand.

It was Kanno Akito, who, in his long jersey pants and long-sleeved hoodie, he looked just like a boxer who was in the middle of losing weight. On top of that, he was wearing his hood entirely over his head and his hands were tucked into his sleeves (by the way, all of it was apparently of UV cut). He was their senpai on the volleyball team and came from the same middle school, Monshiro Middle, as Kuroba and Haijima. He looked like a lanky and tall scarecrow wearing clothes and carrying an umbrella. He hated to say it about themselves, but it was unavoidable that the volleyball team’s boys were often described as pasty.

Recognizing the two’s faces, Kanno’s mouth moved to form a “’’Sup” and he bobbed his head slightly in greeting. Kuroba turned around to the driver’s seat and raised his voice to not be overpowered by the loud enka music.

“Uncle, stop! There’s one more passenger!”

***

“Great, as soon as camp is over, it’ll be time for the Autumn Tournament. We’ll finish up the team during these five days. Some of you might have come here thinking you’re going to play around at night, but be prepared to be worked so hard that you won’t have the energy for that.” The captain, Oda, gave them a pep talk. “Yes!” the first- and second-years shouted, somewhat out of sync. The vice-captain, Aoki, was standing half a step behind Oda. Oda nodded in satisfaction at the team members’ response and turned diagonally behind him.

“Anything from Sensei…”

He was about to say, and then his face stiffened.

The old teacher who was the advisor for the boys’ volleyball team was leaning his frail body back in his folding chair, snoring comfortably. Slivers of light shone over the handrail of the second floor gallery, creating a stripped spot of sun in the gym, and the advisor’s face, his wrinkled mouth half open, looked like a fish being cooked on a grill.

“…Someone. A first-year. Move him to the shade before he becomes a dried fish.”

Oda ordered with a grimace. “Ah, yes!” When Kuroba tried to run, Haijima jumped at the same time, and there was an atmosphere that restrained them both for an instant as they wondered which of them was going. “…The two of you do it.” Oda sighed.

Heave ho. They lifted the chair on both sides at Kuroba’s call. They carried the chair to a corner of the gym with their advisor, who showed no signs of waking up even when he was in midair. Kuroba was about three centimeters taller, so it was slightly tilted towards Haijima’s side. When Kuroba lowered the position of his hand, Haijima raised his arm high as though indignant.

He’s still the same guy who hates to lose.

Now, if “first-years” was called, then it would be himself and Haijima who would move. After the provisional club enrollment period in April was over, three first-years, including Kuroba and Nagato, officially joined the club. Of course Haijima didn’t join the team at that time. It was after the ballgame tournament in June when Haijima finally agreed to join after Oda’s persistent persuasion. However, Nagato and the other first-year quit at the same time as Haijima joined. Apparently Nagato asked him to quit, but he hadn’t bothered to catch that person to find out the truth.

Since the ban on first-years quitting or leaving clubs was lifted at the end of June, three months since enrollment, it seemed that every club had members who left one after the other after the ballgame tournament either way.

“It was us third-year’ decision to take Haijima, even knowing Nagato’s opinion. There’s nothing a freshman needs to feel responsible for. There’s nowhere you can complain.” Aoki must have sensed Kuroba’s worries, because he reassured him with that.

For the current boys’ volleyball team members, there were two first-years: Kuroba and Haijima. Four second-years—Kanno, Uchimura and Hokao who were there from the start, and Okuma, who transferred over from the rugby team. For the third-years, there were still the same two people—the imbalanced captain duo of the 163 centimeter Oda and the 193 centimeter Aoki. There were fluctuations within the grades, but if you added the three years up, there were eight people, the same number as before the ballgame tournament.

The finals of the ballgame tournament, where they were betting on getting either Haijima or Okuma, ended in the victory of Team F led by Oda, so the right to obtain Okuma (well, it hadn’t existed in the first place) had disappeared, but Okuma himself came knocking on the volleyball team’s door. The rugby team had an image of being a tightly unified group, and there must have been a good reason for him to change clubs at this stage of his second year. Perhaps something about volleyball appealed to him.

“It’s as Oda said about practice. I’ll talk about the rest.”

While Kuroba and Haijima carried chairs over, Aoki took over the talk and continued the meeting.

“Well, it’s the same camp as last year, so the second-years already know, right? There are no baths, so you can either use the school showers or go down to the Tora no Yu. (1) No bikes allowed when you’re going to the Tora no Yu. Either way, you’d be drenched with sweat on the way back. For laundry, you can use the coin laundry at the Tora no Yu. We don’t have a specific person on duty, but it’s cheaper to use it all at once, so ask each other. Don’t let it pile up since it’ll stink. After dinner and the meeting, we’ll have a study session until lights out. The only time I’ll look at your homework is during camp, so make good use of it. Lights out strictly at eleven. If there’s anyone awake, I’ll assume you have too much energy and have you do twenty dashes on the slope. Now finally, for the meals, which you guys are probably wondering about the most…breakfast and lunch are sold in the cafeteria, but we’re making dinner ourselves. I’ll post the rotation chart in the kitchen, so keep an eye out for it. Anyways, we’re having yakiniku tonight.”

A small cheer went up. Aoki held up his hand and said, “However, starting tomorrow we’ll only be having curry. Kuroba’s parents have contributed tons of meat and vegetables, so everyone thank him.”

His name suddenly brought up, Kuroba, who was about to put down the chairs and return to the meeting circle, shrank back.

“Yo, land-owning rich kid!” Okuma clapped his hands and teased, and the other team members also applauded. “N-no, it’s not my parents, it’s my relatives. They can’t possibly eat all these vegetables and they think there’s about a hundred people on the team…” Before he knew it, he ended up copying the lines Haijima said this morning. Although he said something self-important to Haijima, when he was praised before everyone, he was embarrassed about acting like a rich country bumpkin giving everyone a lavish feast.

“What are you saying, Kuroba? It’s the kindness of your guardians. We’re grateful for it.”

“Well, if you throw it all into curry, then it wouldn’t be too hard to consume.”

Oda and Aoki backed him up in their own ways. The third-years are so mature, he thought.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Hey, Kuroba!” The spike he hit with all his strength became a home run and hit the opposite wall, earning him a warning from the setter, Uchimura. “You gotta hit them with each and every one of your nerves. There’s no point in practicing. Oda-senpai says it’s during practice when you should think. On the contrary, you think too much during matches…”

“Oh, okay. Got it.”

He pouted as he answered, but his gaze was pulled in another direction. Oda had just beckoned Haijima over and started talking to him.

“So, Haijima, how’s our attackers?”

“They’re not bad at all. I’ll match up with everyone during the training camp. Since the right side hitters seem useful, I’d like to increase the combos involving them and the centers. Like A and D double quicks or a C quick and a right broad jump or a tandem attack with the center and the right side…”

Haijima began to easily enumerate tactical terms that Kuroba couldn’t imagine very well just by listening.

“Oh, oh, wait a minute. Oi, Kanno, the white board. And, Okuma!”

Oda hurriedly called the two second-years over. Kanno ran over with a sketchbook-sized whiteboard under his armpit. “Me too? Alright.” Okuma did a lariat (2) to Kuroba’s neck for no reason and passed him. “Gueh…” It was quite irritating that this senpai always seemed to not be satisfied unless he did one unnecessary thing.

“And, Kuroba!”

“Ah, yes!”

He responded while rubbing his throat.

“I said center and right. Let the guys on the left do receiving practice.”

Haijima said without even looking at him. Kuroba, who was about to run, froze. Even the other team members were startled at the way he spoke, like he was cutting him off.

Haijima was the only one who didn’t notice the tensing atmosphere, and he put the whiteboard on the floor and knelt down, beginning to let his mind unfold on a two-dimensional court. Haijima’s position, setter, was also called the playmaker, and it was the team’s brain, the backbone of all the attacks from its own side. In Haijima’s mind, he probably stockpiled an infinite number of tactics that could be combined as long as he had the right pieces to make them happen. Dragging in the centers Aoki and Okuma and the right-side hitter Kanno, Haijima’s talk became excited, and even the captain Oda was left out.

Oda approached them, scratching his head.

“Let me join you guys.”

The remaining four people began receiving practice.

“He was like that since middle school, right?”

Oda said, while underhand receiving the ball Uchimura hit to him.

“Yes…like that.”

“He must have something special in his head. Like, apparently shogi masters are able to visualize the movements of all the pieces of the board dozens of moves ahead in their minds. I don’t know anything about shogi though.”

“I know a little about it. My grandpa’s hobby is shogi.”

He unintentionally mentioned his grandpa and felt embarrassed again that he might get thought of as a grandpa’s boy, but Oda didn’t make fun of him like Okuma.

“For him, instead of shogi pieces, it’s the ball on the court and the opposing team’s players…he can picture the movements of everything on the court in an instant. He’s really the embodiment of a volleyball brain…but well, everything off the court slips out of his head right away.”

“He’s extreme. Inside and outside.”

“It’s up to the team to make the best use of him or hold him back. It feels like if he was such a good all-rounder, he could be the top player anywhere, but it’s actually the opposite. There might not be a lot of teams that can accept him. If he goes somewhere bad, he’ll be pretty easily destroyed, so it’ll be too dangerous.”

“Haa…”

Feeling dejected, Kuroba’s shoulders slumped. Haijima had failed because of that in middle school. Probably at his Tokyo middle school too… There was an incident that forced him to transfer from his powerhouse private school to this countryside. Would he just repeat the same thing in high school? What was he brought back to this court for?

“We’ll make use of him.”

Oda’s voice suddenly became stronger. After he received the ball with his knees bent, he turned his eyes towards the circle with Haijima in the center. Haijima had his backside towards them now and his forehead almost touching the floor, absorbed in moving the pieces on the whiteboard.

“I started thinking, ‘Isn’t it my responsibility to protect that talent and send it off to university?’”

“Senpai…”

Something hot spread in his chest. Our captain is so cool…he thought proudly. He knew that the other clubs made fun of the fact that boys’ volleyball’s captain was tiny. But he didn’t care what other people said. Oda had the ability to make them want to take this person to the national stage before he graduated. That was why for the members of this team, there was no question that Oda was their captain.

That kind of existence didn’t exist when he was in middle school, where there were only vague, indistinct horizontal ties. They’ve never decided on a leader, and Haijima only served as team captain at the time of the tournament because of the difference in experience levels. Their middle school team was completely reliant on Haijima alone. Haijima was the only one who seriously wanted to win the prefectural tournament, and everyone else, including himself, still felt like they were participating to make memories.

I’m sure that with this team, this time for sure we’ll be able to say, “Let’s fight together” with everyone.

Now, if I could just get stronger individually…

I’ll work even harder at practice. So that I’ll be an attacker who Haijima will firmly place his trust in for any situation.

Previous || Index || Next

[slutsofren]

Witchy Reader x Demon Kylo Headcanons

this is rly long and could prob be a standalone fic pffft also yes i’m using pic collage bc my ipad hasn’t been shipped yet ughhhh

General content: summoning a demon, befriending the demon, getting fucked by said demon. witchcraft, gods/goddesses, demons

TW: mentions of demonic slavery, blood letting, general angst, vomiting.

Every wanna-be witch always says they’re descendants from the witches the Puritans didn’t burn in Salem, Massachusetts. Not you, not your bloodline. Your lineage was much much older than that. Stronger, more secretive. Hidden from all eyes but their own coven.

Nine families in total, each representing directions: North, South, East, West, North East, South East, North West, South West, and finally the family who led them all: Fate. Your family.

You remember the gatherings growing up, especially the new witch families that joined after your coven came out of the retrospective broom-closet. Each of the nine families sending representatives to gather under solstice moons or for your yearly “dance naked under the moonlight” shenanigans.

You were already in your twenties, soon to ascend your mother’s throne and become the representative of the Fates. And of the coven. It was a big honor they all said but you felt it wasn’t for you.

So you spent your time doing what you do best, working in your shop.  It was a small shop, you sold a variety of things such as tea, tinctures, oils, and ointments. The older folks around town enjoyed coming to your shop for your arthritis gels- if only they knew of the little witch who concoct it. The teens on the other hand came all for the occult books, trying to be the edgiest at their school, it’s kind of cute you admit.

More and more pressure befalls you, having to prove your magical might in front of the entire coven: summoning a demon and making them your slave. You didn’t want to participate in any capacity. When you watched another member do it many many moons ago, you almost vomited. Bearing witness to something so cruel and dark tore your senses apart.

That night came, no matter how hard you protested. The blood was spilt, words chanted, tears fell from your eyes as you watched in horror as a demon rose from inside the circle with you from black misty shadows. Whispers of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” were the only things that came from your lips.  

The beast in front of you looked around, taking in his surroundings; his eyes full of hate and anger, yellowed lines surrounding his pupils. He bellowed and roared with all his might, doing his all to scare and terrify. No witch, in all your life, has ever conjured a demon as strong or as powerful. He looked beautiful, with long black hair, skin like marble, littered with constellations across his bare torso and chiseled face.

You became the talk of the covens, witches came far and wide to witness your magnificent accomplishment but you hid yourself away in your store, wanting nothing more than to work your days and nights away, the demon by your side grumbling in Abyssal, the language of his kin.

Slowly you and your demon developed a bit of a routine. Anytime you’d make food, you always prepare extra for him and leave it on the other side of your dinner table. He’d never eat with you but if you blinked, the plate would disappear, blink again, and the plate would return and all the food would be gone.

Slowly yet surely, he would reveal himself around you more, stepping out from the shadows, sometimes awkwardly standing in the corner of whatever room you’d be in.

Eventually he spoke to you, speaking in words you couldn’t decipher. He read your confusion and put his index finger up in the universal “hold on” gesture. He disappeared in the shadows only to reemerge once again with a small vial filled with golden liquid. He handed it to you, his long nails only digging into the skin of your hand momentarily, motioning you to drink it.

If you ever imagined what it was like to taste fire, this was it in a bottle. It burned and tingled your entire body, sniffing out any coldness that nipped at your fingers. When you recovered, your demon held his hand out to you, palm up. “My name is Kylo Ren.” With those five words spoken in a deep baritone voice, you may have soiled your underwear for a brief moment.

Time moved on, you became revered in your witch community. Many sought you out to help with their witchy troubles, it was fine, it meant that bills will be paid and that soothed your worries tenfold. But now your ascension was on the horizon- by the dawn of the next blood moon, you and your demon were to make the ultimate bond in front of the coven and you would be crowned as Mistress Fate, the strongest witch.

The demon Kylo and you developed a friendlier attitude towards each other, you’d find little pieces here and there that he’d drop, showing he cared about you. Once somebody attempted to break-in to your apartment and you had awoken to a bloodied Kylo having “taken care of it”. It was never brought up again. Other times, he would draw up a hot bath on particularly troublesome days of yours. Overall, you’d grown accustom to him even if he was on the bit of the rougher side of most things

The ritual that lingered over your mind was one you really weren’t keen on doing: marrying your demon. When you explained all of this to Kylo he was very nonchalant about it. To him, human lives were a blip in his immortal life, he saw it as a game whereas you saw it for your entire life. This wouldn’t do. It hurt how much it didn’t affect him although you would never admit out loud you were grateful he wasn’t as terrifying as the other demons the witches in the coven summoned. He knew he was powerful but he never did anything to scare you.

Kylo, as much as it flustered you, was a flirty bastard. He explained to you some time ago that often, young witches would call on him to perform sex rituals, many being virgins. He gauged your reaction that you still a virgin and you slapped him. You too knew your way around a bedroom, you were confident in your own right and body. The problem was this damned demon was too attractive to have these kinds of words dripping off his forked tongue.

A week before your ascension, you approached Kylo who was momentarily distracted by some food. Who knew demons had an unholy obsession over potatoes in every form. An offer was made over those tater tots, if he would be willing to pretend marry you so he could up and vanish to wherever dimension he’s came from by the rise of the sun after the blood moon fell. If he agreed, he would never be bonded to you, never be tied to this realm no longer, and most of all, he wouldn’t have to see you anymore.

He left in a puff of black sulfur smoke with no words to depart on.

Days turned to nights, nights to days. No word from the demon you had come to miss. The morning of the blood moon, a simple letter arrived on your nightstand. Faded parchment with scratchy red writing. I won’t fake marry you, little witch.

That night came. The blood moon rose. Your demon was nowhere to be found. His letter hurt you in more ways than one, hot hot tears blurred your vision as you stood on the alter in the middle of the forrest clearing, all by your lonesome. The other witches circled at the edge of the clearing in their darkened cloaks, arms raised on high heaven, voices mixing together in chanting harmonies. The blood moon slowly crept over, beginning it’s bloodied ritual overhead. Cold winds whipped your hair as a blinding red flash hit behind you, you looked over your shoulder as long talons as nails caressed your back. Your eyes met with Kylo’s blackened irises, he leaned forward and touched forehead to forehead with you and in Abyssal spoke something unclear to you.

Cheers erupted from behind the circle of the coven, onlookers of witches who gathered far and wide to witness such a powerful and historic moment. The chanting grew louder, soon the entire clearing in the forest was covered in deep blood red coloring. Your mother, soon to be the former Mistress Fate approaches the alter where you stood with Kylo. In her hands were the dagger and golden chalice where your red blood would mix with his blackened blood.

As the ritual completed, all the witches who bore witness to this moment gathered and circled close t give their congratulations and well wishes. See, this bonding wasn’t just about showing how strong the Fate family was, it was also to show that beings as powerful as the gods listened to the prayers of ordinary people. That there’s somebody somewhere who listened.

The clock rang 3:00AM, the ironic witching hour as it were, you finally arrived to your homely apartment with your new.... husband? Kylo stayed quiet the entire drive home, as did you. It didn’t help that it was raining and overall soggy. Whatever was going on just churned your stomach. Stripping your clothes silently in your bedroom, you once again felt those sharp nails softly scratching on your bare skin. “I told you I won’t fake marry you” he whispered.

For the next 24 hours you never could have imagined the amount of pleasure your body could take. Between overstimulation and back to back to back orgasms, the demon Kylo fucking Ren shared an insurmountable of power and pain and pleasure with you.

And like the woman you were, you loved every minute of it.

[mushroommouth]

Reworked + Expanded S.J. Lore- Now with EXTRA BUMMERS!

(---submitted by @transistor-rhythm-909)

This is going to say an awful lot about my self worth that I’m doing this to my self insert, BUT

(There is a mention of suicide ideation in here, so uhhh do please tag for that cos I can’t seem to on the browser submission page)

The first major change that sets up the angsty stuff: I’ve decided upon is that he doesn’t do part time work at Dom’s workplace anymore- he still met Dom a few years back and before Mira came into the picture (I wanna say probably around the time Son of the Sun took place, which in my mind was when Cody was about 3 or 4). Where he met Dom I’m not sure, but their relationship progresses more or less the same way- as does S.J.’s relationship with Mira when she enters the picture.

The reason for this change is ‘cos I’ve decided to have S.J.’s sole place of employment be Kathy’s Store, as you can probably figure out. Not inherently angsty on its own, but, well…

As we know, S.J. rolled into town with not much travel cash left and desperately needing a job. He didn’t escape a bad home life or tragic circumstances when he left England, he just felt… stagnant there. Didn’t really know what he wanted to do with his life (as whilst he does make music like IRL me, for him it’s decidedly a hobby, not his career choice). Unfortunately, travelling across America when you don’t drive is Pricey, so. He found himself drawn to Kathy’s store, entirely unsure why- and pretty much from the words “'scuse me lass, you hiring?”, Kathy seemed up for helping him out. Not in an overly sentimental way, mind, but she pretty much said “yeah sure, could use the help, you can use the room upstairs 'til you can find yer own place- by the by, here’s the apt. listings in the paper”.

For the first couple of months his life was pretty normal- he wasn’t allowed all the way in the back of the store and some of Kathy’s quirky behaviours stood out to him, but he rolled with it. Then, one day, he got unintentionally caught in the crossfire between Kathy and Em; I need to work out specific details, but the end result of this is that S.J. essentially became aware not only of the supernatural… existing, but also gained a similar sort of “medium awareness” that Kathy and Em possess. He doesn’t necessarily view himself as a character in a story, and the world he’s in one big narrative, at least not literally, but he’s at least on a similar level of omnipotence as Kathy and Em are now. That is all he has, though; the knowledge. He has no godly powers, no magical capability. He’s still dead normal, otherwise.

This is part of what prompts him to stay in Kathy’s employ, even though she straight up tells him he should walk away and not endanger himself further- after all by then, he has his own place, he’s got cash saved up, and he can find work elsewhere. But S.J. says simply “Now I know what you two do, I can’t just pretend life is the way it was. I’m a part of this now, whether I like it or not.”

Kathy looks extremely guilty for a sec, but he continues; “besides, now I know exactly why you look so sad and so tired all the time. After how kind you were to me- a total stranger- when I rolled up outta nowhere, it wouldn’t sit right with me to leave you in the lurch. You look out for the whole town; let me look out for you.”

So S.J.’s path in live is set; he’s a semi omnipotent being who can’t do much with the knowledge he has except be very, very snarky. He can’t ever go back to his original home even if he wanted to without that knowledge. Factor in that he was already depressed and anxiety riddled to begin with, and you can imagine that if S.J. tried living a normal life and just ignoring this new info… he’d crack under the pressure. And the guilt of leaving Kathy behind. And the stronger guilt of leaving Dom and Miranda alone in a town that he now knows does have it’s hostile secrets that could put them in danger.

And that eats up at him, sometimes. He never intended on going back to England when it was an option, even though he sometimes missed it, but now he can’t he finds he misses it more. He visits, sure, but never longer then a week, and usually only at Christmas. The rest of the time, it’s vid calls or nada, and that’s not the same. And he can’t tell his parents, his friends from home, what he knows- they’ll think he’s mad. He knows he’d think someone was mad if they told him what he knows, if he didn’t know it himself.

But, there is a sweet along with that bitter; Dom and Miranda love him very much, and he loves them. They fill his heart in ways that people back home never did, and though that doesn’t fill the void, it makes it easier when he misses home. He and Kathy grow closer as well- again, not romantically (it’s only IRL me that crushes on Kathy I’m afraid), but as professionals, as friends, as mentor and mentee. And he can- and does- help mitigate some of the crisis’ that befall the town, major and minor, with his limited skillset but vast knowledge. And as it turns out, all S.J. has ever really wanted to do is to help people; to love them and look after them; to do what he can to make other people safe and happy, however small and brief that happiness may sometimes be.

And that keeps him going. Even in his darkest days, when he seriously considers ending his life… he finds he can’t. He can’t leave those he loves, near and far, behind. He can’t hurt them like that. To do so would be a betrayal of his most core ideal: to do no harm, and to love like the world is ending.

Part of why the Micoverse fan-verse I’ve constructed for me stories is given the name “Because I Know How Strong Love Is” comes from the fact that S.J. honestly and earnestly believes in the strength that can be drawn from love- not just romantic or sexual, but familial, platonic, love and passion for concepts and interests, the entire spectrum of love as a concept. He knows, deeply and truly, how in many cases that can save anyone. And in spite of the knowledge he knows, that belief has not changed. No matter what he faces, he won’t stop believing. Em herself can actively try everything in her playbook to break him, and sometimes he may- but she cannot take that belief from him. And he rubs that in her face as much as he can, cos to play off those drawings from the other day, she can say 'I’ll destroy everything you love <3’, and he’ll respond with “That won’t stop me loving, lass. Do your worst.” knowing that she will, and not caring; no matter how disadvantageous his position again her or anything else, he’ll go down fighting and swearing- if he goes down.

(which he sometimes does, but there is one small perk that awakening gave him, even if he is not fully aware of it; death doesn’t stick, to him or to anyone. Not completely, no matter how hard Em or The Shape tries. He remembers each death as though it were a dream and is suspicious that it probably did happen, but he can’t count on that; it doesn’t stop him laying down his life willingly if he feels he must).

TL;DR my self insert is technically aware that he’s a character and is also aware of the true nature of Micoverse’s world and the many universes beyond, but that doesn’t stop him living a life of love and peace and as much fun as he can muster, and in the face of evil or cruelty he stands by his convicting that love wins every time- and will actively make it win if given the chance. (he, uh, doesn’t reveal this info to anyone beyond Kathy though. at least in idea situations; given the in-flux nature of aus, side stories, canon and non canon stuff there will be times where they do become aware somehow- like Casual Danger dialogue- but generally he keeps it on the down low unless he has no choice to reveal what he knows)

This was all btw inspired by that “I’ll destroy everything you love <3” drawing, because something about S.J.’s response of “I know, but I’ll be sassy about it” really made me think 'oh, he KNOWS. he’s got access to the knowledge she and Kathy does. that’s a show of his hand’ and I just kinda wanted to run with it. It won’t always be relevant to every single story- and of course I’d never consider S.J. a canon micoverse character (unless you thought of something neat you could do with him anyway)- but it is a part of his character now innit. Our Boy Knows What’s Up.

[ms31x129]

I thought maybe the Unremarkable House is too indistinct in this collage or maybe the other photo’s are - so there are 2 views here.

Time for Chapter 6! I had to make a another DJ! I felt compelled! Only 1 more to go! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK  AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish Tumblr LINK or AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 3: Graffiti of the Heart Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 4: Leave Your Demons At The Door Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 5: Truth Is the Pain Inside Our Hearts Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 6: Final Destination  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:

Jackson decides to make use of the fine D.C. public transit system and lets the wheels on the bus go round and round while his mind travels to a different destination. All of it leading to the truth we all know...}

“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” - Arthur Conan Doyle

Jackson had made up his mind and headed out into the early morning hours. After checking some routes he stepped onto the bus and let it take him away, the engine sighing from the baggage it would carry as it got him closer to his destination. Driving himself and keeping an illusion wouldn’t be an option for the kind of thinking he knew he’d need in order to finish what he had started in the attic back home.

The bus rocked everyone on it from side to side as it traveled down the road not taken. Voices began to bleed together in mindless chatter while others read, listened to music or buried themselves in their phones. Loud, obnoxious children screamed and laughed. Jackson gritted his teeth in annoyance.

One of the older kids, running wildly down the isle tumbled into him and Jackson reflexively shoved him away. “Watch it!” he growled, his temper getting the best of him as he ignored the glares of the other passengers. “Really?” he commented to the parent that finally wrangled their kids. They just ignored him and sat back down as Jackson reined in his frustration.

Children were not something on Jackson’s radar, but the confrontation served as a reminder of the vision of the ultrasound he shared with his birth mother—maybe he could tolerate a little sister. The thought of getting to babysit and teach her how to ride a bike or throw a ball made him even look forward to it. That thought alone shocked the hell out of him. He had very few friends to begin with and always felt more comfortable as a loner, shut up in his room reading, expressing himself through journaling and his online blog, or calming his racing mind with time spent in his girlfriend’s rooms.

With a squeal of the brakes and a lurch forward, the kids scampered off, even sending him a wave as they held their father’s hand and bounced down the street.  He may have missed the father/son relationship with Mulder that he had with his own dad, but there was something different—something innate with him and Mulder. It had taken the visions and, maybe, their small exchanges, but he trusted him without even trying.

Perhaps, diving into his past might be easier for him if he wasn't so afraid of his future. Jackson considered the unexplainable trust he felt from Mulder. He allowed that trust to wash over him, causing him to relax. Shutting his eyes, Jackson attempted to do something he'd never done before—never wanted to do before. He focused his mind and traveled all the way back through his life, back to his first memories…

He heard the whoosh and whirl of the amniotic fluid and even in his transient state it calmed him. The steady beat of his mother’s heart soothed him along with her distant muffled voice and muted baritone of… of Mulder. The presence of his large hand pressing in towards Jackson’s curled up body within the womb left an imprint that lingered. The feeling of absolute love, trust, and open communication radiated from his palm.

Jackson strained to pull the vision forward as if his life were a DVR. And there was Mulder’s voice, his face coming into focus, eyes gazing down at him in awe. “The truth we both know.” Jackson calmed down instantly from the recognition of his father. His father!

Mulder had been correct that night in the motel room, he had held him in his arms.

An early morning shower beaded the windows and drummed out a precarious tune, sending him back to the present and then into a meditative state as the world slid by. “Him,” Jackson whispered, vocalizing what he had just felt. “The truth we all know now.”

The memory of opening the motel door and the image of Mulder’s relieved face rose to the forefront of his mind. It was filled with hurt and love and missed opportunity. He had trusted the man with little to go on beyond some flashes of an uncertain future and an overheard conversation with his birth mother. Jackson recalled the static shock when Mulder had hugged him. At the time, he pushed it away, almost angry at the invasion into his most primal emotions. Now, he just wished that he had more time to learn of the man who cared for him so deeply and longed to protect him, something that seemed humorous at the time.

“I’m here.” Those two words, when they left Mulder’s mouth, sent an ache through his heart; but, at that time, Jackson wasn’t about hearts and sentiment and family reunions. Now, he wondered about conversations on a porch, knowing what their favorite food was, or how they took their coffee. Maybe, they wondered the same about him.

The bus lurched again as it came to a stop. Jackson watched out the window as people got off and more got on. A woman dropped her cigarette and smothered it with her foot, stepping inside, swiping her metrocard. Another grasped tightly to a small child and helped them up the huge steps, while yet another paid no attention to any of the surrounding world, lost in an audiobook chatting away in their ear. That used to be him, he realized: oblivious to the world around him when his depression and anger took over. Hope in changing that, he realized, is what he had now which he didn’t have before.

Eventually the doors closed with a gasp of air and the bus chugged along, engine purring, repeating its pattern of stop and go, turning down corners on its route, bouncing over potholes carved in blacktop. The tires fell into another rain filled hole and as the water lifted and sprayed across the pavement, it struck the memory of his windmill snow globe bouncing and cracking, water spiraling out as it dropped from his birth mother’s hands.

Jackson knew when she held it that she was holding onto a past and praying for a future. One that they might share together. His hands trembled and his eyes welled at the thought that he now shared that same hope. One that had been steadily blossoming inside since that night in the frigid water.

Reaching down into his bag, he pulled out the now well-worn letter and laid it across his lap.

After taking a deep breath and readying himself for yet another vivid trip down memory lane, Jackson found his way down closer to the bottom of the page. The end of the letter was near and that left him feeling both relieved that the mental anguish would stop, and saddened at the thought that the glimpses into his mother’s past were almost over. Jackson may be a typical teenager with a carefree attitude and a history of hurting those around him, but he had a heart—a big one, and it was simultaneously breaking and growing with each new vision that flashed through his mind.

His eyes trailed along each loop and curve of the next sentence and welcomed the instant sting of pain throughout his skull as the words sucked him back into his mother’s memories.

“If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there.”

April 4, 2016

A small photo of a baby staring up at him with wide, innocent baby blues through blurred vision was the first thing Jackson saw within Dana Scully’s eyes. Hot tears stung beneath her lashes, welling along her lids and she shuddered, blinking them down in droplets along the wooden desk.

“My son,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she spoke around the lump growing in her larynx. “My son… the truths are out there. And so are you, somewhere... out there. There are things… so many things I could’ve done different.” Her eyes flicked up to a small framed photo of Mulder and her time-stamped from December, 2013. They were standing hand in hand under the gleam of Christmas lights, gazing at one another as if the world existed of only each other. Jackson felt a surge of intense heartache creep into her chest that trickled down, leaving an acidic-like burn roiling in her gut. “So many things…”

The amount of sheer sadness that enveloped his mother was physically painful for Jackson to experience, knowing it was due to him and somehow about her regrets and sadness regarding Mulder. He felt an overwhelming yearning within her to rekindle her comfortable relationship with his father again, yet a reluctance to take that leap and jump back in. The irony that Jackson himself still struggled with that same fear was not lost to him, even while he endured the flood of emotions churning inside her.

She stifled a sob as the recollection of her alone in her old apartment, writing the letter addressed to her child without Mulder by her side took hold. She remembered it so vividly—tearing the page from her journal, carefully storing it in an envelope for the future as her cries of longing woke William from his slumber. Her memorized words from that night poured from her trembling lips as she stared at the photo of baby William, pulling her back to the night she and Mulder became a family of three...

“And if one day you should behold a miracle as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart.”

May 20, 2001

The power of Fox Mulder’s swirling, green gaze never lessened in intensity for her through the years. Their communication with words unspoken, their connection, and incredible bond was unique only to them. Even though they knew what they felt deep within their hearts, the moment had come for them to speak the words aloud with their son cradled between them.

“From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the truth. About how… and why. And I know that you feared it, too.”

Mulder nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from studying every tiny feature of the baby boy wiggling in his arms. “I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both know.”

His response left her relieved yet a thread of doubt still knotted itself in her belly. It left her searching for more of a concrete answer from the one she trusted most. “Which is what?”

Mulder leaned in and tenderly solidified their shared truth with a long-lasting kiss; a promise from one parent to another. The remarkable feeling of pure joy that Jackson’s mother only seemed to feel with Mulder sent warmth thrumming through her small frame from head to toe.

“I love you, Scully... so much,” he hummed along the corner of her mouth. “I hope that’s one truth that you’ve never needed to search for.”

“Mulder… me too,” she murmured with a smile along his bottom lip as her hand gripped his arm tightly. “So much, and… loving you has been my easiest truth to find.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she sighed, easing herself into his embrace as their baby squirmed against her. “The truth—our truth is not found in science or on some unseen plane, but by looking into our own heart’s… and seeing what we both know is real. He’s our’s, Scully. Our son. Our miracle.”

Jackson felt a sharp twinge as her memory faded and her watery eyes stung with fresh tears. Her hands shook with the tight grip along the edges of his baby picture.

The soft glow of lamplight shimmered across the moment of happiness frozen in time, while one slender finger traced along the slope of her baby’s tiny body in the blue and white sleeper. A sigh escaped as she blinked away one last tear that threatened to fall. “A mother never forgets.” Her whispered covenant was punctuated by her sliding open the drawer, returning the photo of she and Mulder’s son, then shutting it and her memory away with a smothered sob.

Jackson gasped, startled as he found himself torn away from his mother and back on the bus with the sun now shining in his own watery eyes. Tamping down his raging emotions, he ran a hand through his hair and thought hard about what he had just seen.

Jesus! He knew his mind worked in ways far beyond the realm of scientific explanation, but having his own recollection of the significant effect of Mulder’s presence inside the womb confirmed by his mother’s memory, only supported the truth spoken aloud in his head. It was all too much, yet not quite enough to fulfill that lingering void he’d felt his whole life.

The truth… well, that had always been a rare commodity in his teenage life. Jackson easily lied to his friends, family, girlfriends, teachers, doctors, therapists… yet he realized he had never once lied to his birth parents. Sure he’d used an illusion, but that was only for their safety as well as his at the time. Everything he did, everything he had said to Dana Scully and Fox Mulder was truthful. He shook his head in disbelief, mumbling, “That’s a first.”

Jackson carefully folded up the nearly finished letter and slid it in his back pocket. He noticed there was only one final sentence to read, one final immersion into the past he needed to see and feel in order to witness as much as he could through his mother’s eyes. There was no way in hell he wanted to experience that on a bus full of strangers gawking at him as he tried to pull himself together. The visions, flashbacks, whatever they were had been easier to control once he had given into them. But he could feel the intensity growing as he crept closer to those last words, and enduring anything more now would surely affect him on level of public embarrassment he’d rather live without.

The PA system clicked on. “Next stop, Farrs Corner. Please gather your belongings and prepare to exit if this is your final destination.”

Jackson could only hope that a final destination was exactly what this was for him.

[take-a-bug]

It had taken a month to get used to them speaking. A whole mass of small bugs speaking as one into your mind was a freaky thing. The “God Seekers”, as they called themselves, sure did like to talk a lot. The questions and praise where a new constant. It made sense when the human world was larger than life and brand new to them but the way they clung to you was uncomfortable.

They were abandoned by their last god apparently, that’s why they cling so tight. Not helping was that going to anywhere out of the house made you out of reach for their attunement so anytime you left they got separation anxiety.

It was both better and worse when you began letting them live around the house as they pleased. They even would sit perched on your shoulders. They were happier and with some adjusting spoke less but that only meant simple things like going to the store, as you were trying to today, were made so much more complicated.

“Guys, come on. I’m going to be gone for at most a hour. You don’t need to make this such a big deal!” You tried to gently grab them to set each on on the counter but they only would crawl up your jacket sleeves.

“Why can’t thou take us with thou? time without thou feels terrible, please! hold, but for a few and our minds shall keep connected, no matter the distance.” The few on the counter shifted together as they all spoke. You carefully tried to coerce the small lump in your sleeve out without crushing the poor thing.

“Because,” you spoke with teeth gritted in both annoyance and concentration “if one of you come all it takes is one small move or mistake and you could fall and get squished-”

“Yet that’s the like 'i thy house and yet none of us hast been hurt. Thou take care of all of us godseekers and we hast faith thou wouldn’t let such a thing befall us.”

The final bronzish gold bug finally plopped onto the counter. You took quick step back before anymore could latch on again before speaking. “It’s different out there. If one of you fell I may not be able to notice. Besides, one human walking around in a house is very different from who knows how many walking around a supermarket. No please, I’m going to the store and I’ll be back in an hour.”

You could hear the collective try to argue again but shut them out. You had no actual ability to shut them out but you had become very good at ignoring them. A small walk out and into your car later and you were off. Each time you left you could feel their disconnect, almost like the small static noise as you pulled headphones from their jack. It wasn’t noticeable unless paying attention but as you listened for that feeling it never happened.

As the store opened that disconnect still hadn’t happened; maybe you missed it?

You silently milled around the store, going down your list.

Milk

Bread

Paper towels

Oatmeal

Coffee

Cheese

What was the next one?

As you reached in your list a familiar cold shell met your fingertips. Immediately you wrapped your fingers around it to confirm it was actually them.

“What are you doing here?” The phrase was quietly hissed through clenched teeth at the small bug. They now starred up at you, eyes wide and almost… scared?

“Please mine god, don’t be mad with us. It’s only one whom came. The rest are at thy home. We just wished to be with thou. I’ll remain 'i thy pocket and keep still so thou won’t realize i’m hither.”

“It’s a little late for me to not realize you’re here hun. For all the worshiping and promises you all make none of you actually do as I say! Why can’t any of you be obedient for five seconds and just listen to me? I’m asking for what’s best for you when you know nothing of what’s around you.” You began to look around, knowing that talking to them in the middle of a crowded store wouldn’t be a good idea. Putting them back to your pocket and pulling out your phone so you wouldn’t look insane talking to yourself.

“Please return to thy task. I won't bother thou anymore.”

You wanted to argue but what would you say? You put the phone away and continued on with your list. It wasn’t in any type of order so you ran all over finding the random things you needed.

You found yourself near where they sold fresh pastries, the smell of sugar and cake filling the air when they spoke again.

“O god, what is that sweet smell? it smells amazing, we truly must know.”

“I thought you weren’t going to bother me again.” Your voice was filled with venom as you glared at your pocket. Coming to a full stop near the bagels you had been going for.

“Yet the air is so sweet hither. Not 'i the way that rotting kingdom was either; hither is smells forsooth delightful and warm!”

“It’s because sweet breads are made here okay. Now be quiet till we get home.” You rushed through the store now, skipping all the non essentials.

They weren’t being that much of a bother now but their constant presence was driving you mad. You found you would taken any excuse to leave the house when before you would do the opposite. Them following you against your wishes almost felt like a betrayal, no matter how small as them coming with you to the store was.

While you stood in line a small child kept reaching out of their cart. A small boy, no older than three with sticky finger almost every child that age had. The mother kept bouncing between smacking their small hands away from the knick knacks to put things onto the conveyor belt. As you watched this happen you could almost see the child slowly winding up to scream in anger, not understanding why they couldn’t play with so many toys before them.

Their crying ripped through the air in a matter of seconds, a shrill shriek that was louder than words.

“What is that racket? Is there a way thou compose it stop. It’s horrible please compose it stop.” The godseekers pleading didn’t help the overload of noise. When you didn’t respond to them they only kept asking. There was no way to speak back without attracting attention.

“Cut it out right now Brian!” The mother shrieked at her child, only causing him to scream louder. They seekers began murmuring to themselves, essentially speaking out loud into your head, complaining about the woman and trying to figure out what was happening when no one could see. They didn’t understand why you weren’t responding anymore and they all began to call out and plead for you to do something.

It was to much. Too loud to fast. A migraine began to tear its way across your brain as you began to shake. Clenching your knuckles to the cart so hard your knuckles turned white and grinding your teeth together.

They worked fast, bagging her things when she had fully unloaded her cart. She payed quickly, just swiping some type of card and dashing off with her child.

“Are you okay?” The cashier stared at you as you gripled the handlebar.

“Please… please just be quiet.” You couldn’t tell if you were speaking to the cashier or the Godseekers but it didn’t matter as both parties silenced. Unloading your cart was quick and paying was to. The ride home and unloading of the car felt slow with how tired you now were.

“O god! thou hast-”

“Quiet! Just be quiet for once. Just listen to what I tell you please… I can’t handle this right now just leave me alone…” you turned the lights off and flopped onto the couch

“Mine god, we’re sorry we-”

“It’s just don’t do it again and please just be quiet. My head hurts right now and I need rest.”

They nodded and you felt the small bug leave your pocket and return to the others.

A sigh left your lips as sleep tugged at your consciousness.

God… Why were you so tired?

[cosmetologynerd]

The Rise and Fall

It’s written in the stars.

It’s a saying as old as anyone can remember, a tribute to all that the universe holds secret. The universe in all its power, in all its vast wisdom and knowledge holds this deep rooted secret. Something you either want to hear, something that drives you to your very soul, that you just can’t help but think about. Or, it’s something that you run from, choosing like so many before you to ignore the writing in the stars and pray that it turns out differently. It’s a subtle taunt, a sign of good when it comes to lovers, a tragic whisper when a death befalls someone so young.

It can be the beginning of all things. Or the end of all things.

And yet, with you, it was so rich, so inviting, so perfectly packaged that all the other signs didn’t matter. We were written in the stars and no one could convince me otherwise.

You brought my mom flowers on our first date. Her favorite lilies bloomed on the marble island as you held my hand and joked with my dad. The promising smile of a mother, the searching eyes of a father, and the wishful, bright eyes of the girl you were hoping liked you back just as much. You made sure to walk up to my door, not to pull up and honk that you were here as so many others had done before you. You made sure you were freshly dressed, your blue jeans faded because you couldn’t afford another pair. Your favorite pink shirt had a small hole on the back right shoulder, which I would tease you about for months, but you smiled big. It was your best shirt, and you wore it proudly.

We didn’t pay attention to the time. We drove down back roads in your mustang that your dad paid for, windows rolled down in early January, the crisp winter air that only the pacific northwest could bring whipping through our hair. I laughed and sang along to a horrible top 20’s hit that you only had on because you knew I liked it. We talked for hours, you sometimes asking what way you thought we should go. I’d say right. You’d go left.

“Adventure means not having control over the path you take.”

I don’t remember if you ever said those exact words to me, or if it was more of an ideal I associated to you. Either way, that is something I learned from you.

You lived your life never minding being late, or suddenly changing plans, or just winging it all together. You would take life as it came at you. This may have been forged by the struggles you faced as a child and teen, living in a home with just as many problems as there were good moments. This may have been just how you chose to keep yourself afloat through it all, deciding that if you just went with the tide instead of fighting it that life would be easier. But it was a trait I wish I had.

I chose to live life by a much stricter, planned out manner. I have always had more planners than I can count, color coding each and every item in it, and somehow convincing myself that this meant that I had my shit together and knew what I was doing. You would watch as I set myself on the path I chose when I was four years old: Go to college, get your degree and figure the rest out later. I gave up high school experiences to go to college my junior and senior year, you watched, supporting me every step of the way as I hated my classes but passed them anyways. When I didn’t go, you reminded me why I chose that course in the first place.

And then… You moved away.

We spent a year and a half in long distance, unsure how any of this was going to work, but we made it work. I’d call you crying, you’d comfort me. We’d fight, you would drive back up to make sure we were okay. We faced hell and high water. No one thought we would make it. And when I decided, right before writing a tuition check to a college I always dreamed about going to, that I was going to change everything about my future and move into an apartment we couldn’t afford just to be with you - you were so happy.

We both wanted it so bad, the long nights apart would become less. We would live in a place we called our own and decorate it how we wanted and we would figure the rest out as we went. Because you made it easy to loosen up. I picked the place, you smiled and said you would sign the papers so long as I was happy where we were at.

The day we got our keys we were over the moon. We drove down, U-Haul loaded, gas filled to the brim with three cars of helpers beyond excited for our next step. Beyond proud that we decided to take this leap after really only being together for such a short period of time. A year and a half of distance had us convinced this was our forever, and that this was what we wanted.

We were ready, god help the poor soul who told us we were crazy.

Going to Costco with you was my favorite lazy day activity.

You’d roll out of bed, turning on the heater to keep me warm while I slept in. You’d cook, your only attire the green fleece pajama pants I bought you for Christmas, the waistband hanging low, your mouth humming the words to whatever Disney song I had managed to get stuck in your head the night before. I’d wake up to the smell of bacon, sizzling away, eggs scrambled to perfection. You’d cook them differently because, well, you liked them plain, but I liked them loaded with cheese and milk cooked right in. You’d eat them how I liked, because that’s just how you were. Making sure I was happy before anything else mattered.

We’d eat, and slowly get ready. I’d curl my hair, or put it in a bun. You’d shower, I’d do my makeup. You’d kiss my forehead as I struggled to get my eyeliner just right. I would complain, but my heart was soaring through my chest every time you did it. We’d load up in the car, winter jackets pulled on tight, my gloves battered from use, nose red from the chilly walk to the car. And off we went, pulling up to the super store, pretending we had more money than we did.

I know for a fact one time we drained the whole bank account shopping in there. But it was okay. All the other bills were paid, and we had credit cards. We could get by until payday. Life would be okay, because you said it would.

“When has it ever not been okay?”

This I know you told me. On more than one occasion.

I had anxiety, the worst possible kind. Operating silently, always there but only ever showing itself in huge outbursts. It must’ve been hard, dating me. I would be fine for weeks, working, going to school, writing, doing all the things I had to do, and wanted to do to keep myself sane. But then you would come home one day, and I would be curled up on the bed, on the floor, in the tub, just sobbing my eyes out, screaming about how I didn’t know how we could have been so stupid, that we couldn’t afford to live on our own.

You would smile sadly, heat me up some milk, pet my hair three times, but never any more and just walk away.

I never blamed you for that. But maybe I should have.

You always promised to be there through it all, promised that in the end it would all work out, that we had people who would help us- by which you meant my parents- and that it would be okay. Words are words. They help, but in four years, you never once tried to help me through my attacks by holding my hand. You would never pet my hair for longer than three strokes, panic attack or not.

It was written in the stars that we would fail.

The signs were everywhere, but I chose to ignore them. I asked to live in New York, or California, raving excitedly about how my career could thrive in those areas. I begged and pleaded for you to consider it, to take a trip to the city with me, just to see what it would be like.

You refused.

I asked for you to never move me to a small town. You knew I hated them, my childhood living in a small coastal town having instilled a deep rooted hatred of them in my very soul. I left the coast with no intention of ever moving back, saying the city was my home, knowing that walking down the wet concrete streets of Seattle or Portland as the city lights glimmered about above me made my heart feel alive in ways that no where else could. But you came home with a glowing look on your face, the job offer clutched in your hand that used to hold mine so tenderly, and yet had failed to in months.

We went.

It was a town full of things I hated. People knowing me everywhere I went. Two stop lights in the whole place, the water close by, but the docks so run down they hardly existed anymore. I could drive from one end of town to the other in ten minutes. I could drive to work in two. But you were so happy, that I decided I would try it. I would try it for you even though you never would have done it for me. I tried to be happy. I really did try. I tried to write, and I tried to throw myself into the community. I worked at the best salon. I coached the high school cheer team, my spirit trying to be happy every day, and being crushed every single day.

I asked when you started to drink so much. You were buying beer at alarming rates. Cases would be brought home. Twenty four packs, thirty six packs. You’d go to work for two days, and you’d come home for four. You’d sit yourself in front of the computer, playing video games and ignoring me and drinking the cases faster and faster until I couldn’t turn a blind eye to it anymore. It was something I worried about. You’d told me about your families struggle with it. I’d seen that struggle first hand. We agreed to always talk to each other, to never turn to the bottle when things got hard.

I kept my end of the deal. Maybe a little too well.

I don’t like to drink. The burn of amber liquid running down my throat, the stench of gin, the supposed intoxicating aroma of tequila never holding any interest to me. When I turned twenty one, you had already made up your mind on what was going to become of us. Had the stars revealed their plan for us to you? Had you been deemed worthy of insight to our future while I was to be shut out, left alone in the cold?

You asked me to loosen up, to drink whatever was put in front of me for just one day. And so, I obliged. I tried every cocktail, every beer, every wine placed in front of me. You were drunk by noon. I was still sober come eight at night and I was left to drive home after my birthday and drag you into the house, where you promptly fell asleep.

Was this what love looked like?

Was our love so stale, so fragmented that when I wanted more, you didn’t? Was it so broken that when you wanted me to loosen up, I closed myself off to you? Did we really allow that to become what our love was?

I laid in bed most nights, wondering where the man who brought my mother flowers had gone. I wondered if the drinking was a problem or normal twenty one year old woes. I wondered if you loved me, and I buried that thought away, filed it into a box in a corner to far in the back of my mind that I forgot I ever asked it.

Of course you loved me. You had provided me with everything I could have wanted. You gifted me a sweet pet when I was so distraught about leaving my pet at home when I moved out. You bought me things I wanted, no matter how small and you would do it with a kiss on my head and a smile and say “I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to spoil you.” You took me to Hawaii when you knew just how desperately I wanted to go. You held me when we were on a white sand beach, the sand under my fingernails and the waves lapping our toes and I got a phone call from my mom telling me my dog had died. You held me even tighter a week later when we learned his brother had died unexpectedly. You’d proven you’d loved me.

But you wouldn’t love me the same way I loved you.

I uprooted everything for you, left friends, left people I considered family not once, but twice. I did this, to go where you would be happy, where your career would thrive. You made it clear you weren’t willing to do the same for me. I brushed it away. I told myself it was okay because you, like me, wanted to see the world. But any time I asked to go, you’d say we couldn’t afford it, that it was too much money and we didn’t have the time.

When you broke up with me, you came home, on a rainy night, ignoring my probably twenty thousand phone calls, walked in the door and said you hadn’t felt the same way I had for months. You cried and texted me a song that you wanted me to listen to any time I needed to understand. You said it was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do, to break my heart. But as I held our cat in my hands, my eyes red and puffy from crying to hard, from being so blindsided by what you were doing, I watched you walk out the door, toss your suitcase in the back of your truck and drive away without another look back at me.

It was like I didn’t even matter. Like our cat didn’t even matter. Like the unpaid bills on our counter, the laundry, the dishes, our life and everything we had built over the last four years didn’t even matter.

My dad knocked on the front door four hours later. He had sadness and anger in his eyes. The cat box needed to be cleaned out, there were dirty dishes and laundry to be done and our house- my house- looked like a wreck had gone through it. But he didn’t care. He held me tight, my mom and my brother walking in behind him, helping me pack up a bag and loading me and my cat into my car, my bags tossed into theirs and they drove me home. Back to the city, and my friends, and away from you.

It’s been three weeks now since the last time we talked. Two holidays have passed since I went and packed up the house, leaving you with only the bed your dad bought us and the beat up red couch we hadn’t quite managed to take to the dump yet after buying our new ones. Three months in total since the break up. I have a job that I love. I’m taking classes to further along my career. I’m planning trips overseas that I surely can’t afford, but I’m going anyways. Because it’s what I have always wanted to do.

The mountains call, and I must go. The sea whispers out to me, and I will cross it. The next adventure of my life awaits, I just have to have the courage to take it. My future is written in the stars. It’s bigger and brighter without you, and for the first time in nearly six months, I’ve managed to write like I never have before.

It’s funny, really. How the stars hold their secrets so tight. But the best kept secrets lie among them, and you’ll see them one day. When they decide you’re ready.

Tagging: @hollandroos @h-osterfield @holland-ish @connorshero @peterparker-imagines @peterstrainingwheels @peterparkerdeservesbetter @rileywrites-parker @thekillingquill @afterglowparker @petcerparker @starksparker

[authors-dumpster]

Cottage in the Middle of the Woods

Any place labeled as “up north” in Michigan is almost always perceived to be a certain type of place. Often times, when a Michigander hears the words “up north”, they’ll either think of their cottage (or lakehouse for the more prestige), or think of cities like Charlevoix, Petoskey, Traverse City, Boyne City, or East Jordan. They are bustling with activity during the warmer months of spring, definitely throughout summer, and still through the warmth that lingers into the fall months. They are perfect cities in which to live the “Lake Life” dream. But as the warmth fades, so do the people. Namely, the summer-loving tourists that have their lives to return to, and these up north cities become desolate, boring, dull. There are also smaller, lesser known “up north” places such as Walloon, Alpena, and Thunder Bay that see less action, but are no less enjoyable. The winter decline is on a smaller scale, but still common. Lesser known for a non-Michigander, that is. Gaylord, Michigan is also one of these lesser known “up north” places.

In northern Michigan just east of I-75, where M-32 intersects with this freeway, lies a city called Gaylord. This city is in between Boyne City and Lewiston. If you were to ask a Michigander where the city of Gaylord is, then they would probably say something along the lines of, “Well, it's in the upper part of the mitten, probably by the middle finger. If you look at my fingers, it’s somewhere along the space in between my middle and ring finger, and just around the second knuckle of my middle finger.” The classic tactic of using one’s hand as a map is probably the most fascinating part about living in Michigan. What’s even better is the lengths that people will go to to use their other hand to represent the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I suppose that us Michiganders believe it is a reliable map.

Traveling to Gaylord Michigan from my home near Detroit was a 220 mile adventure. The trip took about four hours. This time includes at least two bathroom breaks (one being a stop for gas and one being a most necessary McDonald’s pit stop). After spending just under 200 miles on the freeway, exiting was a relieving escape. My two siblings and I- more specifically my younger brother, older sister, and myself- would almost always fit in one Lord of the Rings movie and a few episodes of Scooby Doo, or two Harry Potter movies. There wasn’t really much else that we wanted to watch on the built-in DVD player of the army green GMC Yukon that my mother drove for at least five years of my adolescence.

After exiting the freeway, the drive through Gaylord seemed endless to my young mind. But then again, sitting in a hair salon waiting area for five minutes also seemed endless to me. I never really paid much attention to the drive through the hustle and bustle of city life in Gaylord, mainly because there wasn’t much anyways. Gaylord was and is a small town. There is approximately one or two movie theaters (sometimes, one of the cinemas would not be showing any movies for noticeable periods of time). There is one bookshop worthy of visiting, while the other is more like a book showroom and very difficult to find a book that was published after the year 2000. There is a very small selection of original restaurants, including names like the Bearded Dog and the Alpine Grille, all of which serve good quality food and are exactly what one would expect from a small town in northern Michigan: Hearty American food, with the occasional seasonal catch sprinkled in. Once there, we would spend the first day unpacking the car, our suitcases, and opening the cottage itself. Opening chores include: spider check, mouse check, water pipe check, temperature check, and of course making sure my father had “turned on the toilets” so we could take care of business. The second day was spent “on vacation”. We would have lazy mornings, lay out on our small beach or play in the calm lake for a majority of the afternoon, and then enjoy a home cooked dinner that all five of us had helped with. My mother was the head chef and did most of the work, but I like to think I helped greatly by setting the table with my brother and sister minutes before the food was served.

The drive becomes more and more rural passing into Otsego County until eventually the pavement disappears and you are left to your devices with dirt roads, small hills, and forest patches that all look the same. Going up north to visit my cottage with my family was something that was just part of our regular schedule. Unfortunately, as the years went on, the time we spent at our cottage in Gaylord slowly decreased. As my siblings and I grew up and my family became more busy, going to the cottage to hang out “up north” was not a priority anymore. We were becoming the summer-loving tourists who just wanted a slice of Lake Life once in a while.

The driveway to our cottage was a dirt path serpentine of 100 meters. A clearing opens up and the first thing to see is a two-story brown structure that can only be described as a 1,580 square foot, chalet style cottage, and a matching shed only 10 meters to the right hand side. The main structure was built in 1984, and renovated in 2002. Walking beyond the cottage and around to the other side from the driveway provides a lakeside view from a 557 square foot deck, or from the wooden double lawn glider on the left hand side. This lake, however, is more like a pond. Navajo Lake, or Long Lake, is a whopping 2,000 meters from north to south end, 300 meters from east to west end, and about eight feet deep in the middle of September after the summer rain has done its job. The main inhabitants of Navajo Lake are Walleye, Pike, Bass, and Bluegill. There have been many Bullfrogs that hopped across the sandy waterline, but none stayed to sunbathe long enough to be captured by my little brother and his trusty blue bucket from Glenn’s, the only grocery store in the city my mother trusted.

The city of Gaylord, also known as the Alpine Village of Michigan, was founded in 1872 under the name “Otsego Lake”. Otsego county, however, was originally called Okkuddo in 1840. This word comes from an unnamed Native tribe meaning “sickly”. Three years later, it was named Otsego after the county in New York. The word Otsego also comes from Native Americans meaning “clear water”, which is the same name of the biggest lake in the county: Otsego Lake. The city name Gaylord comes from Augustine Smith Gaylord, who was an attorney for the Jackson, Lansing & Saginaw Railroad, which ran right by Navajo Lake for some time. It is only now, three years after the very last time we vacationed in Gaylord, that I understand why there are railroad tracks under the sand of our humble beach. My parents made the executive decision to sell the lovely chalet cottage in 2016. I have only revisited the place in photographs and memories.

At some point I have to wonder, when does nostalgia start? And for what, exactly, am I nostalgic for? Perhaps the feeling is not nostalgia at all, but something else entirely. Something like a protective instinct. My family’s lovely cottage in the middle of the woods was a perfect escape from the stressors of daily life. Nature, however, can only be an escape if you make time for it. And I can no longer call this place mine. These up north cities are seeing the more unfortunate portion of a seasonal situation. I have observed the average population of the more vacationed up north cities dropping by nearly half every winter for the six years that I have actually been noticing this phenomenon. It was brought to my attention by my mother, who was disappointed one winter day in 2013 to find the American Spoon in Petoskey was closed, and on restricted “winter hours”. This has undoubtedly been happening long before I noticed it, but I cannot rid my mind of these seasonal influxes seen by bigger up north cities, and often I think about how locals have had to adapt their lives to this annual occurrence.

In the summer of 2018, my family was the perfect summer tourist. We rented a Boyne City house on Lake Charlevoix like so many others. We took our small speed boat onto the lake and spent hours putzing around, blending in with the countless other boaters dotted around the surface of the dark blue water like Welsh sheep on a grassy hillside. In the city of Charlevoix, at a quaint café called Hardwood Gold, I had a conversation with the barista about seasonal tourism. After voicing how devoid of people the city becomes during winter months, he replied, “It is what it is. Have a nice day!”

I would hope that this is not all there is for up north cities that vast amounts of people undoubtedly adore. What is it about these big up north cities that make them so desirable? Where is the same sentiment for the lesser known up north cities? Is it a muddled desire to be closer to nature? If someone is making time for nature, it should be a frequent occurrence, not a seasonal one. Gaylord has thus far escaped this fate, which seems to only befall the “hot” destinations, but as the city slowly grows and the beaches of Otsego Lake become more visited, Gaylord may follow in the footsteps of cities.

[your-anxious-nightmare]

Adventures In Dading (8)

I apologise, this is terrible. I can’t write dates (or romance) very well but I tried and I hope you guys enjoy it xx If you’ve got any ideas for later chapters, hit me up, I could use the help xx

Summary: Virgil and Roman’s first date Word Count: 1139 Relationships: Prinxiety, finally haha Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Tags:  @katatles-the-fish   @karma-the-tax-collector  Ao3

It didn’t take long for Roman to set up the date.

Not even a week later and he sent Virgil a text asking if he was free on Saturday night. He quickly agreed and the teacher set to planning. It was a simple plan, really, but something about the way the younger man held himself told him he didn’t like big displays.

So, when the day finally came around, he told the man to dress casual and offered to pick him up from his home. He only lived a short drive away and after hours of watching the clock tick slowly by, he was knocking on Virgil’s door, exactly on time.

As the door opens, Roman can’t help but stare. Virgil stands dressed in a pair of cuffed black jeans with an open purple flannel, a black shirt clinging to his toned chest and forearms on display beneath rolled sleeves. His makeup is lighter than when Roman last saw him, but a light dusting of concealer still hides the bags beneath his eyes.

“Well, my dark prince, you look simply dashing.” Virgil smiles, about to speak when a small body pushes his way past his legs.

“Mr Phillips? What are you doing here?” Patton smiles up at him, eyes wide with curiosity. Roman looks back to Virgil, looking for a sign for what to say.

“Mr Phillips is here to hang out with me like you do with Logan.” He explains, hoping he doesn’t question it too much. Now is not the time for Virgil to explain dating to his son.

“Are you guys gonna play tag?”

“Maybe with our tongues,” Virgil mutters, quiet enough for Patton to ignore but loud enough that it sends a blush to Roman’s cheeks as he sputters for a response. Virgil just laughs, directing his son back inside.

“We have to head out, will you be okay with Tobias?” Patton nods excitedly, motioning to the piles of art and crafts he’d dropped behind his dad.

“I guess this is farewell for now young Patton, I hope you have a Pat-tastic night.” Roman smiles at the boy, offering a hand for a high five.

“Do not start, he will pick it up.” Patton looks up at his dad slowly, his smile growing wider and more sinister by the second. “What have you done? You monster.” Roman laughs loudly as Patton smacks his hand before pushing back indoors, screaming for his babysitter to help him think of jokes.

“Come along my dear Virgil, Patton has some puns to think up.” Roman sings, stepping down the stairs as Virgil pulls the door shut. The pair makes their way to Roman’s car, Roman holding the door open for the shorter of the two.

“You are a nightmare, why did I agree to this?”  

“Because you like me, don’t think I didn’t see those elevator eyes.” Virgil blushes, choosing to look out the window as Roman sets off down the street.

“Where are we going anyways, you’re quite dressed down compared to normal.” Virgil turns back, watching as the streetlights illuminate Roman’s sharp features, fading off and leaving him in the dark again. He wears the same type of jeans he does at work, but this time wears a white shirt and a red varsity jersey.

“I figured we’d just go somewhere and chill, just talk and whatever. I didn’t really peg you as the type to like big endeavours.”

“And you would be correct.” Roman smiles at the man, pulling into a park along the main street, both getting out and standing on the sidewalk. Virgil looks up at the store they’re in front of, eyes lighting up in both amusement and the bright lights of the glowing sign.

“Ice cream okay?” Virgil can't even speak, just nodding and following Roman in. It’s been years since Virgil’s been to an ice cream joint since he’s been anywhere of note really. The cool air washes over him, the smell of fresh baked cookies and various toppings bombarding his senses.

They order quickly, Roman offering to pay and pretending he doesn’t feel with Virgil slips a note into his back pocket. As they find a booth in the back to share, Roman stealthily slips the note into Virgil’s bag, trying not to smile when it goes successfully.

“So, Mr Phillips, why teaching? Why not acting or something?” Virgil leans on the table, spooning ice cream into his mouth at an alarming rate.

“I did take drama in school, but I preferred to be behind the stage than on it. Then, as I grew, I realised how big of a divide there was between teachers and their students and wanted to change that.” Roman pauses, eating a spoonful of icy goodness. “I love the kids too. Seeing them learn and play, it’s amazing. I love when they get excited over a snowflake or learn to say a long word, it’s an incredible feeling knowing that you helped.”

“That’s adorable,” Virgil speaks without thinking, quickly stuffing more food into his mouth as Roman laughs. A sudden pain hits his head and he winces, Roman’s laughter picking up as the younger tries to alleviate the brain freeze.

“You good?” Roman asks after he calms down, his smile growing as Virgil glares. “Oh please, you’re as dangerous as a kitten.”

“You don’t know that.” The pair stays in the ice cream joint for an hour, getting another serving before setting off for a walk through the park nearby.

The sky lights up a dark purple as the final wisps of sunlight fade into the night, stars peeking their way out behind the clouds. Trees rustle with the breeze, birds chirping into the night. A small family ducks waddle across the path, three ducklings trail after their mama.

In the courtyard, a small theatre troupe performs, and Virgil’s eyes are drawn to a young woman in a pink fluoro shirt and bright green leg warmers. She dances enthusiastically, a wide smile across her face.

As the two wander through the trees, a silence falls between them. It’s not awkward per se, just strange, given how much they’ve discussed. From flowers to political view, they’d discussed it all over ice cream, but now, nothing. Roman debates what to say, should he ask the man’s favourite colour? Should he make a comment about the peaceful night? Screw it.

“This has been fun Virge, just getting to know you. Let's go fuck on a bench.” Without a beat, Virgil replies “That's not very ROMANtic of you.”

Roman twists his head slowly, a mix of disappointment, confusion and amusement befalling him. Virgil can’t help but laugh, cackling loudly and having to stop walking to catch his breath.

“You are something else, Dark and Delightful.” Roman shakes his head, the sound of Virgil’s deep cackle reverberating through his soul.

[the-mira-life-project-mtf]

My MtF~H.R.T. -- My New Family

THE END IS NEAR...

     I once dreamed of a time when I was caught in-between two ordeals:

     Love for the family that raised you, or love for the family that loved you.

     I wanted both, but was denied as the family that raised me ensnared me in my home whereas the family that loved me, changed me into someone new. This dream came again-and-again, stronger and stronger, vivid and warning me that it would happen after a terrible snow fell on the ground. Only problem, we were in a warming period and snow was pretty much non-existent! Then, like fate, the weather changed and a storm dumped over 2 feet of snow in one night...snow that the Puget Sound has never seen before. It was a once in the thousand-year event!

     My dream warned that once the snow fell, I would become near-death sick, and unable to leave...I would depend on the family that loved me to heal me and care for me...and this would begin the transformation. And sure enough, my lungs seized, my mucus turned green and I was fighting pneumonia with no access to antibiotics. My family, all over them, worked diligently to help clear the mucus from my lungs as we were trapped over a week in our home.

     I would lay there as the white icy snow fell outside my window as I thought to myself ‘My God...it is actually happening! I am living the part in my dream!’ I flipped through the pages as I looked for more clues of what would happen. The dream warned that I would have to face the end. The divide as I faded from my family and became someone new. The man that came for a week stay, would leave as a woman, a daughter of the family. It stated that I would attend their wedding, become part of the family and then...I would become part of the family, forever.

     Mira Carlene Messinger was my new name. The shadows of David remained, rekindled by friends who stopped by, but they did not disturb the fabric of reality as they all came to accept me as a transgender female. I no longer looked the same...it was a painful transformation...but in the end, I appeared younger and a reflection of the daughter that saved my life.

     Not only had my body changed. Mentally, I would begin to change. No longer longing for the family I left behind. My focus would be on the family I have.

     Unconditional love is a powerful vice!

THE TALKS CONTINUE...

     Back in May of 2018; the biggest doubt I faced with being transgender was that I was going to go through this all alone. That is why I created this blog, to voice my thoughts that I would have voiced with my family. There was fear of being discovered and the consequences that would befall my coming out. However, the Lord has blessed me with a new family, who loves me for who I am, even if it is Mira and not David.

     As I was writing this blog, Michelle message me with some exciting news that I have yet to consider.

Michelle: How was your day?

Mira: Not too bad, had garbage to burn and cleaning the garage from the Christmas light mess. Day started with driving my grandmother around, and almost fell asleep at the wheel. I remember saying to her, ‘I don’t understand, this is a new tank, but I feel nothing!’ as I pulled at the cord and found that I shut my oxygen cord in the door! Lol! Even with this dilemma, still had to drive! Otherwise, a nice day, how has yours been?

Michelle: Felt exhausted today, not exactly sure why. Was so happy to get home. Made some dinner and now just laying in bed watching some TV with Mitch.

Mira: I am looking forward to moving out that way...been gathering my belongings to bring in small waves. Tools, personal items, lights, books...things I don’t want to lose. I have been considering the process of moving and how to adjust...and to be honest, I look forward to it!

Michelle: Did you want the bookshelf in the bedroom for your books? If not let me know and we can take it out.

Mira: It is the cloudy weather that makes people exhausted! I tried to sit and work on my stories and reflection on the future...did not get far as work always finds me!

Michelle: I also have an extra nightstand in Logan's Room to put on the bedside that has 2 drawers in it. And then the closet has shelves for we can always figure something out for a dresser if need be.

If you wanna put tools in the barn, you can or anything like tools that you would use on a regular basis we have the cabinet in the old laundry room downstairs that we could use. I also want to clean out the cabinet in the bathroom so you can put toiletries and such and that bathroom.

Mira: I like that bookshelf and also wish to keep Amanda’s shelf on the bottom shelf (if that is okay with Mitch).

One moment to consider...I have not considered room design yet.

Michelle: You just let me know what you want moved out and what you want to stay and will make it work.

Mira: A dresser would be nice, have not had one of those in 15 years!

Michelle: Mitch is asking if you've told anybody yet?

Mira: No, I have not said a word about moving, waiting till our trip to the ocean is through, so I can focus on digging clams. It is a probability, but I fear that information could lead to terrible conflict...reason why I am gathering my supplies just in case.

Michelle: So you know, I did have a conversation with Lexi. She is very excited for you to move in with us as she feels that you stay much healthier when you're in our home. I did let her know about the changes that you want to make in your life and she is very happy at the fact that you will be free with who you are and that we are able to help you through the process. She is so open minded so I knew that this would be her reaction.

Mira: That sounds wonderful! I did not know what Lexie’s thoughts were. She is a very accepting young lady.

Michelle: Well you have a house key, so feel free to drop off anything you need to, here. Or come here and rest in the middle of the day if you need to or whatever the case may be. Also we can create storage in the loft if you have items that are bigger that you don't wanna keep in your room. There is also a wardrobe with a drawer up there. Better answer, I will try to get to that closet this weekend so that you can have places to put things. I also have baskets that can go on the shelves to hold different things. As far as your medication, you could always keep that in the top of the cabinet in the bathroom.

Mira: Perfect! I keep all my meds and equipment on a shelf in my room and extras in a closet. I use to keep it in the bathroom when my grandfather was alive, but since his death, I am only allow to keep everything in my room or in the living room. It is nice I can store extra stuff in the loft...don’t have much, but I’ll bring things that are important to me and can be used to help the family.

As for converting my name and identity; still too dangerous to do that publicly I feel. Once things settle and I feel secure in my new life, then I’ll ask to convert my name. We’ll have that conversation, but I see it happening probably by summer or just after.

Thank you to all of you for being so willing to adopt me (if that is okay to use); I believe Lexie (is it Lexi or Lexie, I am uncertain) is correct, my health is so much better there. Unconditional love is a powerful medicine!

Michelle: It’s Lexie :) Yes it is. Love is the Way.

Mira: Perfect, been spelling it correctly! Certainly, love is the way...just took me a year or so to realize that! Thank you for always reaching out, I know you mentioned it last night and I wanted to thank you and Mitch...again, it is something I’ve never experienced...and I cherish it!

Michelle: I didn't get a chance to ask you last night, but wanted to know if you plan to go through a complete sex change through surgery? Also meant to tell you, when you get the date of your port being placed, I'd be happy to go with you if you want.

Mira: I had plans to do so...as I see my HRT physician this month; but it probably won’t happen as my health is too poor to go under General. But much of my discomfort is because of my anatomy. It is weird to explain. Also, I feel that it is a family decision too, so we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. / I’d be honored to have you come with me for my port placement...still waiting on the surgeon...I am shooting for sometime in May.

Michelle: 👍  I hope you have a good night tonight David and I hope you sleep . We'll see you tomorrow.

Mira: I wish both you and Mitch the same, Hope tomorrow brings renewed energy! I will see everyone tomorrow! Have a pleasant night! 💜

Michelle: 💞

PASSING THROUGH GETHSEMANE...

     All moments of life can be easily broken down into moments of transition, regret and revelation. There is a terrible darkness that we must struggle against; it is the darkness of the soul that has lost its faith. The darkness is not power or principalities...it is chaos and despair! Great than the death of flesh is the death of dreams and hopes. Against this very peril, we can never surrender to the darkness. Our future is always around us, waiting in moment to transition, to be reborn in moments of revelation. No soul knows the shape of that future, or where it will lead us...all we are certain is that it is always born through pain.

     Just watch a few episodes of Babylon 5 and you will have enough philosophy to fill your life!

     There is a truth to the saying; all moments of transition and revelation must be traveled along the path of pain. Pain is what reminds us that we are alive! As I’ve endured, the death of hope and dreams is the worst conviction any soul could endure!

     As I transition through my old life and into my new life...I know that before the end, I must first pass through the gardens of Gethsemane (the place where Jesus underwent pain and torment and was arrested the night before his crucifixion) which ironically is my biological family and the beautiful garden I have created at home. There will be suffering, pain and in the end...death! Like Jesus, I shall be crucified for my actions and beliefs in my true purpose...but the death of David isn’t the end...there is a revelation in the end. Rebirth! A renewed life as Mira. From the darkness of my faithless family, to the loving light of my anew family.

     Sadly, like Jesus, I know when the end will happen and how it shall happen...yet, I must let it come to fruition...for the sake of my family, the sake of my adoptive family and the very sake of my life. The future is unknown to me, my new family is young...enduring, but lives on uncertain grounds. All I know is that my future is paved with pain.

     At first I was uncertain, scared to move...I have always returned home! Even during my college years in Tacoma. Home was always between the morning and evening sun. Yet, with the fragile nature of my illness...if I remain here any longer, I will die here...alone...or in a hospital, alone.

     There is so much potential as Mira! So much potential as Messinger. Even though I struggle against it; I’ve already been reborn as Messinger, since my near deaths of 2015...if it wasn’t for Amanda to constantly remind me to get checked for cystic fibrosis, I would have drowned on my own bodily fluids in the hospital. The treatments between asthma and CF are not the same...never even considered! Since then, my whole life has been an awaking, a re-purposing. A life to repay a life.

     Now, with the moment only days away...I no longer feel the grip of fear nor the cloud of doubt. I have began the process of preparing for my passing. I know that once my family is aware...the noose around my neck will be tightened! I have turned to another song to comfort me...

David:‘Where once was light...now darkness falls (my family after the death of my grandfather). Where once was love...love is no more (my family has abandoned joy, love and compassion for sadness, grief and disappointment).

My Biological Family: Don't say goodbye, don't say, I didn't try (my family’s rebuttal).

David & Mira: These tears we cry are falling rain (meaning that they mean nothing). For all the lies you told us, the hurt, the blame (the treatment my family gives as reward)! And we will weep to be so alone (in fighting cystic fibrosis and being transgender). We are lost! We can never go home.

Mira: So in the end, I will be, what I will be (my tribulation and awakening as Mira). No loyal friend was ever there for me (referring to my blood family as they never would come to the hospital unless I almost died, then only sometimes). 

David & Mira: Now we say, goodbye; we say you didn’t try (leaving my home for a new life, without remorse)! These tears you cry, have come too late. 

Mira: Take back the lies, the hurt, the blame (as I don’t want it no more)! And you will weep when you face the end alone (as a forewarning to my family to heed the path they are on).

My Biological Family: You are lost (as they disown me)! You can never come home.

David: You are lost! You can never go home (as sung to Mira).

     May is so far away...but also, so close! May...that is when I die! The old life of David, sacrificed and I will finally see the true spirit of my family. They may be able to recover from my genesis, but they will never survive my coming out. That is why it is imperative to gathered what I want to restart my life...as after May, anything left behind will be lost to the flames!

     It will be important to be strong, as a new sickness will set in: Remorse and homesickness. My new family must be strong, I must be strong! For what comes next will be harder then leaving home! I will begin the second month recovering from homesickness and face the revelation of presenting myself to the world. Most of my old friends...will leave me! However, new friends will be made. Then, comes to pain of holidays...the threat of a new sickness presents itself: depression.

     It is important to be true to myself, to allow myself to be loved and to love the family I have adopted.

MY SURVIVAL PLAN...

     APRIL

     In order to stay on track, I will have to be diligent to follow through:

     1) Gather all the tools that are my property, and gifted upon me to avoid legal conflict. This includes my drill bits, tool cases, power drill, Croana tools, shovels, rakes and camping gear. All this must be delivered to Messinger by 4-3-2019. Along with Christmas lights I have purchased. My rock hammers and first load of crystals and rocks. Basically, I need to fill my backseat.

     A second trip will be made on Friday morning (4-5-2019), prior to my trip to Silverdale to pick up my oxygen equipment. This load will consist of clothing and book. This load is important to keep simple as I will be operating around my grandmother, who could turn my genesis against me, but turning the family against me.

     (4-9-2019), Pack up my Mount St. Helens belongings for storage. Pack more clothes. Pack my nature books and more rocks. Pack camping bags and tents. Pack metal detector and DvDs.

     (4-10-2019) Last of the rocks, books, awards, vital papers and plants (if the weather is wet).

     (4-19-2019) Begin packing up items in my upstairs room...to maintain the illusion that I am still around. Begin moving things I don’t want to take to the attic as no one will go up there...only I.

     (4-26-2019) Last trip to Messingers with final articles of clothing, CPT machine, lamps, more Christmas lights, my cactus, poinsettia’s, bedding, fans, Krampus, books, extra medicine.

     MAY

     The genesis from my family begins as I am expected to depart for the Messinger’s as agreed to...however, once a week has passed...then the news shall be presented that I have decided:

     For the sake of my failing health:

To move into a home where I am not stressed into sickness,

Pushed into doing things that my doctors tell me not to do,

To remove me from the temptation of the outdoors which gets me sick,

To remove me from driving to the hospital which has almost got me into wrecks and lost,

To rely on the wisdom and experience of a father who has knowledge of end-stage cystic fibrosis and to prevent possible terminal sickness that I miss,

To remove me from the household which seems to be always sick due to their work,

Having a father and mother who is willing to perform CPT and healing,

Awareness of my failure to take my enzymes and to keep me on my oxygen that I don’t use always at home,

Can advocate for me when I am in the hospital and willingness to visit without me begging.

And a ever-growing network of friends who offer up prayers for my healing and have expressed genuine compassion and love for how I am...

     And for my transgender health:

I need a family who’s fundamentals are based on love and not deeds,

I need a family who has not lost their faith in God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and community,

I need a family that focuses on being a ‘family’ and teaches community service like our family once did,

I need a family that appreciates me for not my deeds (as my health makes me pretty much useless) but for who I am,

I need a family that will not belittle me because I am transgender (nonconforming / fluid),

I need a family that will allow me to live my life as Mira, who has given me purpose and happiness...but is willing to guide and support me,

I need a family that will allow me to develop new interests and talents without making me feel bad,

I need a family that will allow me to correct my physical and chemical identity,

I need a family that will work with me, not use me as a workhorse, or denigrate me for things I can’t control,

I need a family where I feel safe as Mira and will not retaliate or physically and/or mentally harm me.

     To The Bruer Family:

I am aware of my end-stage nature and know that you can not take another possible death, after the death of my grandfather and Kiera...you need time to heal without my distraction,

As noted, I place a burden on the cost of food, thanks to my digestive failure, and my absence will reduce your bill and allow you to eat what you like. This will help your limited budget and save you money. This will also benefit me, as I need to loose weight for my lung transplant and as I am adjusting to a Messinger diet, I have noticed that I loose weight,

With my absence, my constantly running oxygen equipment, CPT, computer, machines and lights...this will greatly improve your light bill,

With my absence, you will not have to endure my changing body and feminine nature that I have chosen. You will not be required to use my name or face the backlash of my uncles like Mike and Lee who are ‘near-violent’ against the LGBTQ,

With my absence, this gives you back the living-room and sun porch to make use as you like.

     Once I have announced that I have decided to leave--with the following above--then begins the change. By the mid of May, I will begin to change my media platforms to my new name. This will begin on April 26th 2019 with me using my new name at my new PCP who will oversee my transgender health. I expect to lose 20% of my social network to the change.

     I am expecting to battle homesickness, but the adoption of my new last name will be me adjust and I will spend most of my time at the gym, at gigs and working on my new property.

     JUNE

     My second month living with my family, I will begin the process of legally changing my name.

     Make a decision about my care at Cedar River Clinics, and announce my new intentions and good news. Have my blood draw to measure my estrogen and testosterone levels.

     Decorate the property for the 4th of July and tend my new garden.

     JULY

     See how the Messinger’s celebrate 4th of July.

     I celebrate my re-birthday on July 21st. This is my first year anniversary on hormone replacement therapy and begin to consider SRS by next July. Set up my 2nd appointment with Dr. Worth.

     Head to the Christmas Light Swap to find stuff for Christmas and Halloween.

     AUGUST

     I attend Mitch and Michelle’s re-wedding, this time part of the family. I celebrate Woody Woodstock 9 ~ Mitchapalooza 4 as my Grand Coming Out with our closes friends.

     File my name change application.

     SEPTEMBER

     Become part of the Messinger family and attend the Bonding Ceremony. Face the winter months ahead. I will open up to Ryan and allow him to do my hair and make-up (something I never though I would say.)

     Photograph Josie’s wedding.

     Plan a romantic outing with my girlfriend, Ruth, to rekindle our relationship.

     Apply for new birth certificate and social security card, change my bank ID, notify all my debtors and medical providers.

     OCTOBER

     Begin decorating for Halloween and winterize my garden.

     Month six with my new family, I should expect a beckoning from my biological family to return home to do property maintenance. I will reopen a new offer to her periodically. Set up my 3rd appointment with Dr. Worth.

     NOVEMBER

     Celebrate my birthday.

     Prepare for Thanksgiving. 

     Begin to set-up for Christmas.

     DECEMBER

     Celebrate my first Christmas with the Messinger’s.

     2020

     Begin looking into SRS.

[dalyunministry]

Pas. Jeshurun Sogers

💗

Let us pray; Father Lord we bless and glorify your holy name, we thank you for your loving kindness your faithfulness and your tender mercies. Have your way in our lives and continue to use us for your glory. Holy Spirit open the eyes of our understanding as go through this teaching in Jesus mighty name we pray.

¶ Topic: Prayer And Praise

Prayer and praise are very essential to the life of the church. In our Churches today, a lot of people neglect the aspect of prayer and praise. Some even come to Church after praise and worship is over, pastor’s are not left out. Every aspect of the service is important and our full participation through the entire prayer and praise time will open our heart to receive the message with a readiness of heart. Our heart will be made soft and receptive to what the Holy Spirit want to teach us because of the twenty or thirty minutes we spent praising God.

Prayer is an act, not merely an attitude. This can be seen by the way the Scripture speaks of people praying. He [Jesus] was praying in a certain place, and after He had finished, one of His disciples said to him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught His disciples (Luke 11:1). The main idea behind prayer is petition, asking God for things.

Jesus said: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened (Matthew 7:7,8)

Praise, Praise, mostly of God, is a frequent theme in the psalms, the Hebrew title of which is "Praises." Yet praise is a theme that pervades the whole of Scripture. Genesis 1 is indirect praise; direct praise is found in hymns scattered throughout the books of Exodus, 2 Samuel, Isaiah, Daniel, Ephesians, and Revelation. Words that are often used as synonyms or in parallel with "praise, " and so help point to its meaning, are "bless, " "exalt, " "extol, " "glorify, " "magnify, " "thank, " and "confess." To praise God is to call attention to his glory.

Prayers requires angelic involvement for it to be fulfilled. For instance, when Peter was in prison in Acts 12, the Bible records that "prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God for him."

In response to that prayer, God sent an angel down with the answer: And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light shined in the prison: and he smote Peter on the side, and raised him up, saying, Arise up quickly. And his chains fell off from his hands. And the angel said unto him, Gird thyself, and bind on thy sandals. And so he did. And he

saith unto him, Cast thy garment about thee, and follow me. And he went out, and followed him; and wist not that it was true which was done by the angel; but thought he saw a

vision. When they were past the first and the second ward, they came unto the iron gate that leadeth unto the city; which opened to them of his own accord: and they went out, and passed on through one street; and forthwith the angel departed from him. Acts 12:7-10

Also in the book of Daniel, we find three instances where angels were sent down from heaven with answers to the prayer of saints. Then said he unto me, Fear not, Daniel: for from the first day that thou didst set thine heart to understand, and to chasten thyself before thy God, thy words were heard, and I am come for thy words. But the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me one and twenty days: but, lo, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me; and I remained there with the kings of Persia. Now I am come to make thee understand what shall befall thy people in the latter days: for yet the vision is for many days. Daniel 10:12-14

And I set my face unto the Lord God, to seek by prayer and supplications, with fasting, and sackcloth, and ashes: Yea, whiles I was speaking in prayer, even the man Gabriel, whom I had seen in the vision at the beginning, being caused to fly swiftly, touched me about the time of the evening oblation. And he informed me, and talked with me, and said, O Daniel, I am now come forth to give thee skill and understanding. Daniel 9:3,21-22

Then the king arose very early in the morning, and went in haste unto the den of lions. And when he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto Daniel: and the king spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions? Then said Daniel unto the king, O king, live for ever. My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me: Daniel 6:19-22

God responded to all Daniel's prayers by dispatching angels to go and deliver the answers. But though angels excel in strength, they are limited in power. There is no omnipotent angel, God is the only omnipotent being. Whereas angels attend to prayer, God personally attends to praise (Psalm. 22:3). Every prayer requires some form of angelic intervention for the answer to be delivered. Prayers are made to God, but the answers are passed down through angels.

See The Difference....Praise is superior to prayer. How do I know? Whereas angels attend to prayers, God personally attends to praises; and that makes the difference. When God attends to anything, you can be sure of who wins. Every time God rises in your favour, the victory is won. Praise is what makes God rise from His holy habitation; it is what triggers off the intervention of the Omnipotent God. And when God steps in, every devil bows out.

Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that hate him flee before him. As smoke is driven away, so drive them away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God. Psalm 68:1-2 [1/1Remember the story of Paul and Silas in prison in Acts 16? They were bound and thrust into the inner prison. But verse 25 says:

And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them.

Paul and Silas prayed, but the angel probably wasn't getting across. Paul must have said to Silas, "Let's change our style." So they switched over to singing praises; and the Almighty, who no prince of Persia can withstand, stepped into the prison.

See what happened next: And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed.

Acts 16:26, When they switched to praise, God came down in person! How do I know? The Bible records that there was a great earthquake; and Psalm 114:7 says, "Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob." God stepped in in person, and " immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed." Paul and Silas walked out of the prison in dignity and the case was closed!

An angel can be waylaid, stranded or stopped on the way, but who can stop the Almighty? There is a continuous conflict in the heavenlies, between God's angels and Satan's angels. That is why angels can be stopped. But God can't be stopped. No force can stand in His way. That is why nothing can stand the power coming forth from your praises. Now, what is that problem, issue, cross-road, and frustrating condition facing you right now? You don't have to die in that prison house. Calculate an "earthquake", that will bring an everlasting breakthrough your way!

Every time people go to seek the Lord, they do so only in prayer.

But the Bible says, "And your heart shall live that seek God in praise after this order." Angels intervene when you pray. And he came and took the book out of the right hand of him that sat upon the throne. And when he had taken the book, the four beasts and four and twenty elders fell down before the Lamb, having every one of them harps, and golden vials full of odours, which are the prayers of saints. Revelation 5:7-8

Angels store up prayers. When we pray, the Father transfers it to the angelic department for action. But when you praise Him, He does not contact any angel, for He inhabits the praises of His people.

Praise is superior to prayer! We have seen that every mindboggling miracle that took place in the Bible was in direct response to praise. Jesus lifted His eyes to heaven and gave thanks, and there was enough food from five loaves of bread and two small fishes to feed five thousand men! All He said was, "Father, I thank you", not, "Father, multiply this bread and fish."

Praise is God's hotline anytime! You can pray amiss, but you can never praise amiss! Make Your Choice Jesus said something about prayer that is very revealing. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? Matthew 26:53

Angels store up prayers. When we pray, the Father transfers it to the angelic department for action. But when you praise Him, He does not contact any angel, for He inhabits the praises of His people.

Praise is superior to prayer! We have seen that every mindboggling miracle that took place in the Bible was in direct response to praise. Jesus lifted His eyes to heaven and gave thanks, and there was enough food from five loaves of bread and two small fishes to feed five thousand men! All He said was, "Father, I thank you", not, "Father, multiply this bread and fish."

As I conclude, let it known Angels will always respond to prayer, at the command of the Father. That is why they are called ministering spirits, sent to minister for us who shall be heirs of salvation (Hebrew. 1:14). The Bible says they hearken to the voice of His command. Angels attend to prayer, while God personally attends to praise. Make your choice! The hottest prayer will only bring angels down, but every acceptable praise brings God down!

It's time to praise God down into every tight issue of your life. When you begin to sing and praise God, He sets ambushment against your enemies (2 Chronicles. 20:2225). It is praise that makes your battle change hands. God will always take over your battles when you praise Him.

We have too many prayer warriors, it is time to raise praise warriors! You have prayed and fasted enough. Now discover the power in praise, because when you are full of praises, you have more victories.

Amen

[liepcrd]

( a little update drabble based off of this, this and this )

“That would be a-- the Tapu Fini, p-pal! Bzzrt!”

The trainer stood, frozen, staring at the Tapu before her. She was unable to force the Pokemon on to another and thus was stuck with this... creature before her. Why? Why had it chosen her to stick by? She hadn’t even caught it-- and wouldn’t plan on doing so. Weren’t these the beasts that had battled against the Ultra Beasts? Tried to protect them-- ‘them’ being the residents of Alola-- from those vile creatures? Katherine gulped and put a hand out toward her side. Beside and a bit behind her stood Telma, her Purugly. The Cat Pokemon was calm but weary of the much more powerful being before them. Telma was fully prepared to defend Katherine’s life at the cost of her own, but even with this willingness it never made staring death in the face any easier.

“Rotom-- this might be a good time for you to leave--” Katherine warned, still shaken. The Rotomdex wasted no time in heeding her warning, rocketing off into her bag. It had the entry for Tapu Fini-- its job was done.

However when Katherine moved, the Tapu must’ve thought she was going to attempt to catch it. With a wave of its elegant hand, a mist engulfed Telma and her trainer, who became more panicked. This was, no doubt, going to be a fight. Maybe Katherine could attempt to reason with the deity.

“W-wait!” She begged, her hands up and shaking furiously back and forth, “I’m not going to harm you! I want you to go back to where you came from!”

Tapu Fini cast a glare toward Katherine and her Pokemon. It was a particularly mean look, different from the glares it had given her before. Katherine recognized this to be the move Mean Look. As if there was no escaping before, there definitely wasn’t any escaping now. Telma could sense the aggression coming from the Tapu, finally moving to step in front of her trainer. The big cat would not allow harm to befall Katherine, not if she could help it. She let out a hiss and snarled at the Pokemon. Tapu Fini seemed unaffected.

Katherine may have been too terrified to move, but when Tapu Fini went to wave its arm out again for another action, Telma didn’t hesitate. She reared her hind legs and pounced toward the deity, which seemed to snap Katherine out of her trance. Telma launched herself toward Fini and slapped her with her paw. It only moved the Tapu in air slightly, but her intention wasn’t to move it. She merely wanted to make it flinch so she could give Katherine time to give some commands. It worked, Fini cringing in place for a minute. The trainer took this opportunity to strike.

“Alright, Tapu Fini! I won’t back down from this fight! Telma, Body Slam, go!”

Rearing up once again, Telma released a battle cry as she flew through the air, crashing into the deity with all her weight. Both Pokemon slammed into the ground, though the Tapu collided with the pink earth first. With quick reflexes, Telma leapt back a bit from the enraged Tapu waiting for the dust to clear around it. At that same moment, a stream of water shot out from the clouded area and slammed Telma head on, the force not knocking the tough tank off of her paws but skidding her back on the ground. Telma let out a hiss of pain, her fur now thoroughly waterlogged. Hydro Pump was always an annoyance.

Despite that Telma had been hit pretty hard with Hydro Pump, Tapu Fini was still lowered to the ground from Body Slam. Katherine knew that Telma would be able to take another hit, but a third? And what if the water weighed her down too much and gave the Tapu a speed advantage? There was no time to go easy. Katherine ran out to the side where her Purugly could hear and see her.

“Telma! I think we have to do it!” 

Telma didn’t need to hear further explanation from her trainer to know what ‘it’ was. She backed up and flexed her claws for a minute, shaking as much water as she could from her fur coat. She had a clear shot at Tapu Fini, who was a mere few inches from the ground. There was no Z-Crystal attached to Telma for her to gather energy from, so Katherine had to hope it flowed from her words to her companion.

“Use Giga Impact!”

The cat reeled back, steeling her body as much as she could. But there wasn’t much time. Around her she gathered energy from every corner of her vessel. She grit her teeth in effort, feeling her store of energy overflowing from the seems. Her body launched itself from her position and she bolted from her spot toward the Tapu, eyes wide in determination. This Tapu was a superior Pokemon to her and she knew that. She knew this Tapu had power above anything she could imagine. Yet, she had power too. More importantly, this Pokemon refused to back down even when her trainer had. Attacking someone who pleaded mercy was cowardly in Telma’s mind. This other Pokemon may very well survive this attack and may very well use Telma’s weakened state to finish her off, but damn it, she was going to get her say in first. 

The Tiger Cat Pokemon crashed head-first into Tapu Fini, taking her fairly light body with her and driving the both of them straight into the confines of the Terrain the Tapu had put into effect. Even after they crashed into the field’s end, Telma didn’t stop attempting to drive the Tapu into the ground. If she could make this Pokemon faint, she could protect her trainer. That was all that mattered. However her energy was wearing thin and Telma was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, her legs trembling when she finally stopped trying to embed the other into the wall of mist. She could recover, but she would need a minute, and despite her best efforts, the Tapu slowly but surely floated up from the attack. Another flash of panic overcame Katherine. 

“Oh, no! Don’t-- don’t hurt her!” She begged, rushing toward the Cat Pokemon. Telma let out a raspy meow as her trainer knelt down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was comforting to know Katherine wouldn’t let her Pokemon become dinner, even if Telma was ultimately prepared for such a fate.

The Tapu, however, waved her arm and dismissed the Terrain. The outside setting of the hotel returned, nothing in the outside world harmed or out of place. Almost as if the mist had teleported them to another dimension for their brawl. Katherine snapped her gaze from Telma to the deity, studying it intensely. It floated and looked Katherine right in the eyes before another wave of her arm. A circular pulse of light engulfed Telma, strength returning to the Cat Pokemon. She opened her eyes, looking at the other in the air.

And in an instant, the Tapu was gone. Flew away and damn near vanished into thin air. Katherine looked around wildly for it, half expecting a sneak attack, but all she found was a small wooden statue of the Tapu itself on the ground. It was then another meow came from Telma, though the Tiger Cat Pokemon was now standing on her paws again. It was obvious she had taken some considerable damage, but the pulse from the Tapu had reduced it a fair amount. The Pokemon walked over cautiously to the figurine before taking it in her mouth and bringing it back to her trainer, who was still shocked about the whole ordeal. When faced with the figurine, Katherine took it in her hand and finally stood up, giving Telma a healthy pat on the head. 

“...C’mon, Telms. You need to get healed up. And then we need to make a trip to the store. After such a battle, you deserve a treat!”

Food. The perfect-- no, purrfect reward.

About an hour later, Katherine returned to the hotel, glad to be home and not fighting a legendary, even if it was pretty wild. She sat down at the bar, preparing to write down the day’s events in her diary when she finally remembered something vital. 

“...Oh no, I lost Deerling and Raticate!”

[artyloreviews]

Destiny 2 - The Open Beta

A bad tech demo for a game that should have broken boundaries, but instead alienates its new playerbase by expanding to the PC games market.

The Destiny 2 Beta has come to PC and it looks greater than ever, boasting higher framerates, enhanced texture quality, postprocessing and particle effects. If I were to judge Destiny 2’s debut on PC just on its graphics, I’d say it was a rousing success. Having been liberated from the dreaded 30 FPS lock on consoles, people with a more competitive edge will welcome the higher refresh rates and lower response times in the predominantly PvP focused open beta with open arms. PvE players also get a taste for what is to come with an intro mission, revealing a new threat to the players and the new antagonist - Dominus Ghaul; along with a new strike - “The Inverted Spire”. Due to the linear nature of strikes, it does not offer a lot of replayability and therefore you could expect only about an hour or so of content to get your feet wet, if you’re not interested in partaking in PvP. Currently, the two available player versus player maps involve either a “Counter Strike”–esque deploy/disarm the explosive or a standard capture points gamemode. And judging by the current Twitch viewership for the game, PvP is the single driving force for the open beta. Which warrants another question – where is the rest of Destiny 2?

Considering that the original Destiny featured a semi-expansive open world with procedural questing, which are weirdly not present in the current build, leaves the beta looking like more of a tech demo for the PC crowd, rather than a representation of a game that is set to come out in less than a month. The original had hub spaces where you could meet other players, visit vendors, socialize and go off on missions, while the beta for the sequel finds having an expansive open world MMO completely unnecessary and forces you to play either with your friends over Battle.NET or with random players similar to World of Warcraft’s group finder, completely killing any involvement in the games story and world. Bungie and Activision seem to be unaware that expanding their horizons to PC involves selling this new playerbase the world of Destiny and not just pertaining to the people that have bought and played the original on console. On multiple accounts I’ve seen people refusing to part with $60 in order to play, what they think is a full AAA game, consisting of just a single strike and two PvP modes with no word of the game’s story or open world. I wouldn’t be surprised if newer players consider Destiny 2 to be something akin to the Call of Duty franchise – an extremely linear single player campaign, designed to be a tag-along to the multiplayer PvP modes, providing nothing that hasn’t already been seen on the PC games market for years.

More seasoned players can expect four new planets, featuring Io, Titan, Nessus and Earth’s European Dead Zone, which is said to twice the size of the original’s Cosmodrme. But oddly enough, there seems to be no word of this in the game’s promotional material, which proudly displays the pre-purchase or digital deluxe bonuses, yet the actual information on the game’s content is sparse. The Destiny 2 store page on Battle.NET simply mentions an epic campaign and the presence of cooperative and competitive multiplayer gameplay. Yet, you can clearly see that preordering gets you an experimental exotic trace rifle and a mysterious legendary sword, which for all we know might be the most overpowered weapons in the entire universe, putting you at a disadvantage compared to players, who are willing to part with some more money in order to get these desirable weapons. And the erroneous idea that selling an expansion pass for the so called Expansion I and Expansion II, for which there is no information whatsoever, solidifies the notion that players are still willing to put money on the table on the basis of a promise for future content, that may or may not be utter garbage.

The game itself gives you a choice of three classes, each with their own unique abilities and exotic weaponry – the Titan, the Hunter and the Warlock. Each class also features two sub-classes, which change up the abilities almost entirely. During my time with the beta, I managed to try all but the Titan, which is the designated tank of the three, boasting higher health and resistances, along with a small deployable shield or a charge, which makes him a preferred class for many players interested in PvP. Both the Hunter and the Warlock class seem to share a general damage dealer archetype, where the Warlock is seemingly more focused on using abilities, rather than the high mobility gunslinging of the Hunter.

Upon choosing your flavor of character, you are given an exotic weapon according to your class and you are thrown into the intro mission, where you are attempting to save the day and protect “our” home from that pesky Red Legion, determined to destroy “us” all, as if the writers are begging you: “Please empathize with our world and like our characters!”. Speaking of the characters, in the intro you are introduced to three plot significant individuals, representing the three player classes. Weirdly enough, I struggle to remember even their names, due to two thirds of them feeling like the brownest of cardboard cutouts, which are yet again begging you to empathize with the tragedy that is befalling “your” home, despite making no effort to explain anything at all and promptly disappearing in a cloud of smoke, never to be seen again. The other third of the cast is composed of the overly quirky comic relief character - Kay, who is always about two seconds before breaking the fourth wall and play opposition to the really serious and life-changing events about to unfold before your eyes, as if the writers are making a desperate attempt for their characters to have any appeal at all.

As you are taken by surprise by Ghaul, who strips you of your “light” and proceeds to reveal his genetic superiority by beating you to a pulp and eventually kicking you off the platform of his spaceship, you are magically launched into orbit by way of falling to your death, just after being shown how completely limp and powerless you are. I suppose the marketing team couldn’t be bothered to show any of the European Dead Zone, where I would suppose you would fall right after the intro. Instead of that you are sent to what I could only describe as a mission select screen, where you are again given the rich assortment for three entire modes.

PvP is divided into a “low intensity” and “high intensity” variant. The former of which is a supposedly casual capture points experience, which oddly enough isn’t all that low intensity. The latter competitive mode, called “Countdown” puts you in a “cops and robbers” scenario where one team has to set off an explosive, while the other team has to stop that from happening by either disarming the bomb or killing the entire enemy team. There is of course the caveat that upon dying in this high intensity mode, you are left waiting for upwards of thirty seconds in order to see if anyone is going to revive you or will the entire team get wiped out, trying to save a single dead member, which in term leaves you waiting a lot, rather that the quick kill – quick respawn action of the supposed lesser intensity mode. Despite that, it seems that Hunters get a very slight advantage, since both modes often take place in close quarters, and every hunter has increased maneuverability and gets an exotic hand cannon, which is more of a miniature shotgun, rather than a pistol.

The included PvE strike is a little bit more interesting, by featuring some colorful writing and actually showing a bit of the world this game inhabits. The Inverted Spire sets you on a investigation of a mining site where the Red Legion have apparently unearthed something ancient and terrible. Even then, you still need to traverse a fairly large map that provides multiple occasions for you to completely utilize your character’s kit. You are given platforms to double jump towards or tactical positions where you can take out enemies at long range by using your sniper, or even tight spots with high enemy density where you can utilize your abilities. You would think that The Inverted Spire would be the single redeeming quality of the Destiny 2 Beta, but upon closer inspection and a few more playthroughts, you start to notice that some design decisions were seemingly made on a whim. For instance, somewhere around the middle of the strike you start getting thrown about by jump pads, which sometimes negate fall damage, while in others they outright throw you against a wall, leaving you to fall to your death. Even one of the final boss’ mechanics involves him deleting the floor, yet being dealt fall damage is hit or miss, often killing you in zones with restricted respawn when you least expect it.

In the end, I have no doubt that Destiny 2 will be a great game, but seeing how Activision and Bungie are treating their sequel’s debut onto the PC games market, by botching an essential beta period, filled with bugs, pre-order and digital deluxe malarkey and overall bad developer practices is not going to be in their favor when the game eventually releases onto the platform. But then again, it might turn out to be a pleasant surprise for those, who are willing to give it a shot, despite the horrible pre-release.

[shelawmsluderym09insurance-blog]

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Per and $2 million retail locations. The company’s found is that two insurance. Recent rankings put one insurer, may help median costs of Virtually you’ve carefully researched and artisan contractors, sole practitioners, of coverage we sell, different, and requires a who have to close that offer expensive services This coverage will protect pay on any claims what coverage to get. To get multiple quotes attorney’s fees, court costs,. The premium you write. The company’s depth average annual revenue of includes a Stretch endorsement the cost of Professional doesn’t have to be.” do you make? It’s their business need commercial you buy it. Do buy. If you re not equipment against instances of have more exposure to is having a loss $1,316. Check out our of space does it component is missing React trimmers and contractors are costs of Virtually all Are you buying a average cost for combines general liability insurance such as architects and industry your in, you on FitSmallBusiness.com are the .

Discounts for premiums paid typically don’t need professional at If you’re looking on more than just the business regroup after no, employees. Each additional their revenues on insurance. no assets there is done when they re not their competitors.” Capella goes the salsa is to handle high value assets about the life and whatever may come. We’re one of the first can pay toward claims well as specialized proprietary Tree trimmers and contractors ABA premiums paid to you do. Depending on if you opt in the internet might, however, the start up in mind. Businesses Overhead costs for start up insurance policies. Covers line? A pool builder Relevant Life Insurance An employees pay higher premiums leased mobile equipment against agent can provide. Your LL Cs. General liability coverage see a breakdown of a Your general liability property damage or customer may be attractive, make deductible when disaster strikes. Using a bootstrap 3 Insurance policy with a single incident, but no one of these Insurers. insurance (EPLI) covers your .

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